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THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 






THE 

HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


BY 

MARION HARVEY 

II 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 

Cob\r^ 

i 








Copyright, 1925 

By SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 


Printed in the United States of America 


THE MURRAY PRINTING COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MASS. 

THE BOSTON BOOKBINDINC COMPANY 
CAMBRIDGE, MAS9. 







CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PACE 


I. 

The Importunate Stranger . 


3 

II. 

The Ancient House 


13 

III. 

The Vault. 


18 

IV. 

A Promise. 


26 

V. 

“ With the Same Measure that 

Ye 



Mete”. 


35 

VI. 

Sergeant Williams Assumes Command 

46 

VII. 

The Face of the Portrait . 


56 

VIII. 

A Friend in Need .... 


70 

IX. 

New Evidence .... 


81 

X. 

The Vault Entrance . 


97 

XI. 

The Dealer in Antiques 


115 

XII. 

The Duplicate Case . 


125 

XIII. 

J. T. F. Claims the Watch . 


142 

XIV. 

Eldredge Howe, Egyptologist 


151 

XV. 

Who is Granya Howe? 


166 

XVI. 

The Cable from Paris . 


180 

XVII. 

Hirshkoff’s Find .... 


191 

XVIII. 

The Supper Party . 


202 

XIX. 

The Testimony of a Hair . 


215 

XX. 

Dreams and Doubts 


235 


V 



vi 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXI. 

The Irrevocable Past . 

PAG* 

. 242 

XXII. 

Behind the Panel . 

. 257 

XXIII. 

The Arrest . 

. 269 

XXIV. 

Granya’s Parentage 

. 282 

XXV. 

The Search . 

. 298 

XXVI. 

The Motive . 

. 309 

XXVII. 

Conclusion 

. . . 324 




THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


CHAPTER I 

The Importunate Stranger 

Anything at all can happen in New York’. 
Miss Warner, Philip Norris’ trim and efficient 
secretary, was not aware of the axiom, being 
new to the metropolis; so she was startled when 
the stranger slipped into the outer office and 
asked for her employer in a reedy voice that 
trembled with suppressed emotion. 

He was not prepossessing, this stranger; long, 
lean, gray, with the pallor of a man who has 
dwelt too long within doors. Moreover there 
was a furtive look about his close-set, rheumy 
eyes that gave the distinct impression that he 
lived in perpetual fear of being found out. 

Miss Warner, from her sheltered aloofness 
and utter lack of contact with the seamier side 
of life, viewed with disapproval the battered 
black hat, the thin frayed overcoat, the worn 
boots, the heavy powdering of snow which was 
fast turning to water in the warmth of the office 
3 


4 


THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


to the detriment of the luxurious carpet. She 
hesitated visibly. 

She was the bulwark between Philip Norris 
and all importunate strangers; yet the fact that 
this shabby creature had braved the storm of 
that December afternoon argued a seriousness 
of purpose that could not be lightly cast aside. 

The man, watchfully intent, read the indeci¬ 
sion in this precise young woman’s face and 
edged closer to the desk. 

“ Tell him it’s important, Miss, very impor¬ 
tant. Tell him Fordney’s here with a message,” 
he urged in his thin wavering voice. 

Impressed by the man’s perturbed manner 
and entirely ignorant of her employer’s private 
affairs, Miss Warner bade the old man be seated. 

“ I’ll let Mr. Norris know that you are here.” 
She opened the door on the left and entered the 
laboratory where Philip Norris and his assist¬ 
ants conducted their chemical experiments. 

The chemist was alone, bending anxiously 
over a bubbling retort, so absorbed in his work 
that he failed to hear the opening of the door 
behind him. So Miss Warner paused a moment 
to admire in secret, as she often did, the tall, 
well-knit figure and dark, purposeful counte¬ 
nance of the young chemist who at thirty-two 
had already made a name for himself in the 


THE IMPORTUNATE STRANGER 5 


fields of analysis and research. Presently she 
gave him her message and watched him turn 
slowly toward her, a faraway expression in the 
fine gray eyes. 

Involuntarily she smiled, knowing that he 
had heard no word of what she had said, and 
patiently repeated her summons. 

“ Fordney, did you say?” questioned Norris, 
rousing himself from his abstraction. “ I can’t 
recall the name. What does he look like?” 

Miss Warner’s manner was superior. “ A 
rather poor sort of creature. He’s quite shabby, 
very probably a beggar.” 

Norris frowned in meditative silence, and 
then shook his head. “ The name is new to me, 
I’m sure. He said it was very important?” 

“ Yes, very important, or I should not have 
disturbed you. But then that may have been 
merely a ruse on his part,” she replied. 

“ I may as well have a look at him. Might be 
something in it. In any case, he may need help, 
poor fellow.” 

Miss Warner doubted that her employer’s 
generosity would be merited. She kept her 
opinion to herself, however, as she followed 
Norris into the outer office. 

At sight of the chemist, the man jumped to 
his feet as if he had been suddenly electrified 


6 


THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


and, dropping his hat, held out shaking hands in 
the other’s direction. 

“Mr. Phil, sir. Is — is it really you, sir?” 
he quavered. 

“James Forthright!” exclaimed Norris dum- 
foundedly. 

“ Sh-h.” The man looked apprehensively 
toward Miss Warner. “ Fordney, Mr. Phil. 
That’s my name. Fordney.” 

Norris gazed into the wrinkled gray face in 
amazement, then grasping the bony arm, he half 
led, half dragged the other into his laboratory 
and closed the door. 

“ Now,” he said grimly, “ what’s the trouble? 
And why have you changed your name?” Nor¬ 
ris looked at the old man intently. “ Haven’t 
been in jail by any chance, eh?” 

“No, no, Mr. Phil.” Fordney seemed shocked 
at the suggestion. “ What made you think that, 
sir?” 

“ You look like a man who has been deprived 
of sunshine for a good many years. That and 
your change of name were what made me think 
you had run counter to the law,” replied the 
chemist thoughtfully. 

The old fellow shook his head. “ I haven’t 
been in jail, sir. But I have lived indoors a 
goodish bit of late. I only come out at night 


THE IMPORTUNATE STRANGER 7 


and when it storms and there is no one about. 
Not that I’ve done anything wrong, sir.” 

Norris eyed the other shrewdly for a moment. 
“ You haven’t answered my question. Why 
have you changed your name?” 

An expression of dread stole into Fordney’s 
weak, watery eyes. He lowered his voice to a 
thin thread. 

“ Mr. Fielding made me do it, sir,” he whis¬ 
pered. 

“ Mr. Fielding?” 

“ Your Uncle Jonas, Mr. Phil.” 

“ Uncle Jonas?” Norris was clearly startled. 
“ I thought he was dead long ago. It must be 
all of ten years since I’ve heard of him.” 

When the other remained mute, Norris con¬ 
tinued sharply, “ So he found it necessary to 
change his identity, did he? What’s the game 
now, Forthright?” 

“ Fordney, Mr. Phil, please. Fordney. For 
God’s sake, remember that. Even strange walls 
have ears.” There was such genuine terror in 
the man’s tones that Norris was quite taken 
aback. 

There was something grim, tragic, behind this 
change of name on the part of his uncle’s serv¬ 
ant. It was not simply the desire to please an 
irascible and eccentric master, then. 


8 


THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Abruptly Norris spoke. “ Why have you 
come here?” 

“ Your uncle sent me. He wants you to come 
to see him, Mr. Phil.” 

“ What for? Is he in trouble?” 

“ No, Mr. Phil, not exactly; at least, not the 
kind of trouble you mean.” Fordney hesitated, 
choosing his words. “ He’s getting an old man, 
now, Mr. Phil. He’s sixty. You are all the kin 
he has. He wants to see you before he dies.” 

Norris took a turn up and down the white- 
tiled room. “ Sixty is not old, not in these times. 
He may not die for years.” 

“ It isn’t always years that age,” answered 
Fordney, sadly. “ Your uncle, Mr. Phil, is old. 
He may not live so very much longer.” 

“ Strange that he should suddenly conceive 
so active an interest in me after the lapse of a 
decade,” commented Norris dubiously. 

“ He had his reasons for silence. I would go, 
Mr. Phil.” 

Norris debated the issue. Curiosity, that 
great moving force of the universe, began to 
prick him like a goad. There was some mystery 
here, something unusual germinating below the 
surface, which it might be as well for him to 
know about. 

His musing had carried him to the frost- 


THE IMPORTUNATE STRANGER 9 


starred window. Subconsciously his eye dwelt 
upon the wind-swept waste of white-shrouded 
world. He spoke accordingly. “ Give me Uncle 
Jonas’ address and I’ll call on him tomorrow. 
It’s too stormy to bother today.” 

But Fordney shook his old head resolutely. 
“ It will have to be now or not at all, Mr. Phil. 
I can’t risk coming here again and I can’t tell 
you where he lives.” 

“ What nonsense. If you take me to him I 
am bound, in the very nature of things, to learn 
his address; so why not tell me now? I won’t 
divulge it. Unless,” he added as Fordney con¬ 
tinued stubbornly silent, “ you intend to serve 
me as the cobbler was served by Ali Baba’s 
servant in ‘ The Arabian Nights.’ I wouldn’t 
put such a scheme past a man of my uncle’s 
ingenuity.” 

“ I don’t understand what you mean, Mr. 
Phil.” Fordney was so genuinely puzzled, so mat¬ 
ter of fact, that Norris could not help laughing. 

In answer to that pleasant sound the feeble 
ghost of a smile hovered for an instant about the 
cracked lips of the old servant. “ What scheme 
do you mean, sir?” 

“ Why, the very ancient trick of leading me 
blindfold to my destination,” replied Norris 
with a twinkle. 


10 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Oh, no, Mr. Phil.” Fordney was disturbed 
that such an idea should have found lodgment 
in the chemist’s mind. 

“ Then what’s the objection to giving me the 
address?” 

“ I can’t, Mr. Phil. Your uncle made me 
promise not to. Besides you couldn’t go alone. 
You would not be able to get into the house.” 
Fordney was so distressed that Norris from very 
kindliness ceased to importune further. 

He returned to his interrupted experiment, 
and while his fingers were busied with lowering 
the gas and stirring the mixture, his brain was 
occupied with Fordney’s unusual summons. 

Norris was still young enough to enjoy haz¬ 
ard. This promised to prove an adventure of 
sorts. At least there was an element of strange¬ 
ness that intrigued him. Then, too, the man 
was his uncle and he might be in want; was in 
want if Fordney’s appearance could be taken 
as an indication. However little Norris might 
approve of his uncle’s mode of life, he could not, 
for his mother’s sake, entirely ignore this last 
request. 

Slowly, like a man who is not yet sure of his 
own mind, Norris divested himself of his acid- 
stained apron and slipped into his coat. He 
really ought to stay and finish his work. He 


THE IMPORTUNATE STRANGER 11 


glanced from the bubbling pan to Fordney’s thin 
face — and reached for his overcoat and hat. 
The lure of adventure had proved stronger than 
the monotony of duty. 

Fordney, who had been watching the young 
man furtively with anxious eyes, drew a relieved 
breath but remained discreetly silent. In the 
office Norris paused to give Miss Warner some 
final instructions. 

“ I won’t be back again today. You can close 
the office as soon as you finish that report. Be 
sure to turn the gas out under the pan on the 
stove. It can continue to boil until you are 
ready to leave.” 

“ Very well, Mr. Norris,” responded the 
young woman mechanically. She was thinking, 
“ I wonder where you are going with that ill- 
dressed creature.” 

Norris, too, was wondering about his destina¬ 
tion as he and Fordney stepped from the heated 
building into the semi-darkness of the storm. 
Although it was barely five o’clock the gloom 
was almost impenetrable. The lights on Fourth 
Avenue shone faintly through the curtain of 
snow and down the canon-like side streets the 
wind was tearing and shrieking like a soul in 
torment. 

Burying his head in his coat collar to protect 


12 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


his face from the stinging blasts, the chemist 
followed his guide through the drifts of virgin 
snow down Twentieth Street to Gramercy Park 
West, where they mounted the decaying steps of 
an ugly browns tone house. 


CHAPTER II 
The Ancient House 

It was a very old and decrepit house, and 
one gathered the impression that it was held in 
place solely because of its position in the center 
of a row of apparently younger dwellings; 
though this could not have been the case since 
the entire row had been built at the same time 
and had remained untouched since. Perhaps 
the look of age was given by the dreariness of 
the place. The windows were dark, and rattled 
with every passing gust, and the brown, bare 
stems of the ivy clutched the discolored walls 
like a million scrawny fingers. 

In the deserted street the wind was whirling 
the drifting snow; feebly the light on the corner 
struggled to pierce the enshrouding pall; in the 
park itself the gaunt trees shivered with a brittle 
sound as if the cold had frozen the sap within 
their veins and made them old before their 
time. 

Hearing that melancholy sound Philip Norris 
shuddered and drew his coat collar closer about 
his neck as he watched Fordney insert a key in 
the lock of the grated entrance and endeavor to 
13 


14 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


turn it with numbed and frozen fingers. The 
thought came to the young man that it was a 
wild enough evening for almost anything to 
happen, since only evil creatures would venture 
abroad in such a storm. Yet he jumped when a 
gruff voice remarked out of the gloom: 

“ Come down out of that. What do you think 
you are up to, trying to break into an empty 
house.” 

Peering down Norris discerned the bulky form 
of a policeman. Before the chemist could plaus¬ 
ibly account for his presence, Fordney straight¬ 
ened and spoke. 

“ It’s all right, Officer. Just some one who 
wants to look over the premises.” 

A beam of white light played for an instant 
over the two men on the stoop, then the police¬ 
man laughed boomingly. 

“ I didn’t recognize you, Fordney. My mis¬ 
take. You wouldn’t know your own brother in 
this storm.” 

“ Beastly weather,” assented Norris, who was 
not feeling entirely at his ease. The sight of a 
policeman had a sobering influence, and raised 
a doubt in his mind as to the advisability of be¬ 
coming entangled in his uncle’s affairs. Jonas 
Faraday’s name had been associated more than 
once with unsavory schemes. 


THE ANCIENT HOUSE 


15 


But it was too late to back out now. Ford- 
ney had swung open the grilled door that 
creaked protestingly on rusted hinges and had 
entered the dark vestibule. Then he opened the 
inner door of stout oak and Norris found himself 
in a dim and dismal hall. 

The heavy furnishings were covered with the 
dust of years. There was a musty odor clinging 
to the place as though the house were never 
aired. Also it was cold there, cold and decidedly 
unpleasant. 

Norris almost fancied that ancient ghosts 
lifted sullen faces at this unwarranted intrusion. 
He hastened to follow Fordney toward the left 
where a small corridor branched off abruptly. 

“ Fordney, what did that officer mean when 
he called this an empty house?” Curiosity was 
blended with caution as Norris asked the ques¬ 
tion. He had no intention of walking into a 
trap. 

“We only use the back, Mr. Phil,” explained 
Fordney in a hesitant manner. “ Mr. Fielding 
is a very rich man and he’s afraid of burglars. 
He wants people to think that the house is 
unoccupied and that I’m simply the caretaker.” 

Norris took leave to doubt this explanation. 
He had jumped to the troubling conclusion that 
his uncle was mad. But there was no time to 


16 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


discuss the matter further. They turned a 
corner rather sharply and found themselves up 
against a blank wall some six feet in width. 

It was too dark to see clearly what Fordney 
was up to. Norris had a half-formed impres¬ 
sion that the old servant opened the wall with a 
key. At any rate a section of the wall gave way 
before them, admitting them to another longer 
corridor which was lighted by a subdued glow 
from an overhead lamp. 

But none of these things, strange as they 
were, occupied Norris’ attention. His eye was 
caught and held by the full-sized portrait at the 
far end of this second passage. 

It was the portrait of a young woman, scarcely 
more than a girl, and so skilfully had the artist 
caught the radiance of her personality that she 
dominated her surroundings to the exclusion of 
everything else. 

The very way in which she lifted the wide 
skirt of her silk gown gave the young chemist 
the impression that she was about to step down 
from her frame to greet him. There was wel¬ 
come in the curve of her red lips, in the dancing 
brightness of her blue eyes, in the very gesture 
with which she laughingly tossed back her 
auburn ringlets. 

Norris was assailed by the absurd notion that 


THE ANCIENT HOUSE 


17 


he really ought to speak to her. So impelling 
was the gaze of those sapphire eyes that for the 
moment they blotted out every other considera¬ 
tion from his mind. Forgetful of his uncle, of 
Fordney, of the queerness of the whole episode, 
Norris walked like a man in a daze through the 
opened wall and down the corridor toward the 
portrait. 

“ So you like my pretty doll, eh?” A high, 
rasping voice shattered the silence that held the 
young man spellbound. Again he jumped invol¬ 
untarily. Then instinctively he took another 
step toward the portrait as if to protect the girl 
from some unseen menace. 

As he realized how far the artist’s skill had 
wrought upon his imagination, Norris flushed 
with annoyance and turned to look for Ford¬ 
ney. As he did so, a high, shrill cackle, pro¬ 
longed and disconcerting, echoed caustically 
down the corridor. 


CHAPTER III 


The Vault 

Angered by that prolonged and ugly cachin- 
nation, Philip Norris strode down the corridor to 
an open doorway some five feet from the en¬ 
trance wall. On the threshold, however, he 
paused. Prudence whispered that there was 
nothing to be gained by losing his temper over a 
portrait. Besides, he was considerably disturbed 
by the appearance of this uncle whom he had 
not seen in so many years. 

In the dim firelight that wrought weird shapes 
upon the polished floor, the old man’s figure 
resembled that of a great black toad as he squat¬ 
ted on a low stool before the hearth, his back 
to the door, his head sunk upon his hollow chest. 
Behind him his giant shadow reached out and 
engulfed the room. 

Sensitive to the atmosphere of places, the 
young chemist shivered. It seemed to him that 
the grim spectre of death skulked in the shadows 
beyond the firelight. To put an end to these 
fanciful imaginings, Norris crossed the room 
and laid a hand on his uncle’s shoulder. 

18 


THE VAULT 


19 


In answer to the touch Jonas Fielding, as he 
called himself, looked up quickly at his nephew, 
then as quickly sunk his head back on his chest 
and continued his brooding. Norris stood mo¬ 
tionless, relieved to find the man alive, yet 
shocked by a glimpse of that ruthless old coun¬ 
tenance. 

In that moment of revelation the young man 
knew that the conclusion he had reached on 
entering the house was unfounded. His uncle, 
whatever else he might be, was not and never 
had been mad. 

There was a malignant gleam in the small 
blue eyes sunken deep in their hollow sockets; 
there was grim menace in the thin, bloodless lips 
stretched into the semblance of a grin across the 
wrinkled, parchment face that precluded the 
idea of madness and told Norris plainly that 
Jonas Fielding had a purpose in view in sum¬ 
moning him to that house. 

In the crafty expression of the old man’s eyes 
Norris read the reason for the seclusion in which 
his uncle dwelt. Evil emanated from him like a 
poisonous vapor and the wicked old fellow 
feared for himself. It was not at all likely that 
he was frightened of burglars as Fordney had 
intimated. 

“ So you came, Phil, eh? Curiosity brought 


20 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


you as I knew it would. Well, what do you 
make of the mystery that surrounds me, eh?” 
The rasping voice grated on Norris’ ear. There 
was a deal of bland self-complacency in the 
harsh tones. 

“ I make nothing of the mystery,” said the 
chemist shortly. “ I came because Forth—er 
Fordney, urged me. Since your only desire to 
see me was to laugh at me, I might as well be 
going.” He turned on his heel as he spoke. 

“ I wasn’t laughing at you,” denied the old 
man, lifting his skull-like head. “ For God’s 
sake, don’t abandon me, Phil!” A look of 
abject terror overspread the yellowed face and 
there was desperation in the high-pitched voice. 

Norris turned back. He was essentially a 
kind-hearted chap. The man was, after all, his 
flesh and blood. He could hardly fail to respond 
to such an appeal. Besides, his curiosity was 
re-aroused by the very strangeness of the whole 
business. 

“ What do you want of me?” Norris had no 
intention of throwing caution to the winds. 

Fear was instantly blotted out by cunning in 
the wrinkled face. “ Downstairs I have a treas¬ 
ure vault,” whispered the old man, beckoning 
the chemist closer with a bony forefinger. “ I’m 
interested in Egyptology. I have just bought 


THE VAULT 


21 


a marvelous mummy case.” His voice crooned 
the words. “ I want you to see it. Will you 
come, Phil? Will you?” 

Jonas Fielding rose suddenly, shakily, from 
his stool. His eyes were eager, pleading. 

Norris nodded slowly, although he was still 
dubious. Just what was his uncle getting at? 
He did not trust Jonas Fielding. Was this talk 
of a mummy case simply a blind? 

“ Wait, Phil. We must have a light. Wait 
while I get a candle.” The old man rubbed his 
dry palms together with a rasping sound as he 
shuffled off into the shadows. 

When Jonas Fielding had disappeared, Norris 
profited by the opportunity to examine the room. 
He found the switch and turned on the overhead 
lights. 

Then he saw that he was in an old-fashioned, 
walnut-panelled library furnished in exquisite 
taste; the neutral tint of the Oriental rugs blend¬ 
ing harmoniously with the deep wine tones of the 
luxurious over-stuffed chairs. But amazing as 
was the richness of the room, the young man was 
far more astounded by the circumstance that 
there was only one window, long, narrow, and 
barred like that of a prison cell. 

He went over to it and saw that it was not 
wide enough to admit the passage of a human 


22 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


body. He put out a hand to test the bars when 
a voice behind him uttered a sharp exclamation. 

“Don’t touch them, Mr. Phil! They’re 
wired. Come away from there, sir.” Fordney’s 
tones were edged with fear as he appeared in 
the doorway. 

“ Wired? What for?” Norris whirled toward 
the old servant. 

“ I told you, sir. He’s afraid of thieves.” 

“ Nonsense. I don’t believe it. I-” Nor¬ 

ris got no further. 

With an unexpectedness that was alarming 
the library was plunged into darkness. Only 
the dying embers tried feebly to withstand the 
onslaught of the advancing shadows. Then 
from the surrounding gloom Jonas Fielding came 
into the circle of firelight, carrying a lighted 
candle irj his hand. 

Mechanically Norris offered to take the taper, 
but the old man waved him impatiently aside. 

“ I’m not quite useless — yet,” he said and 
added in a lower tone, “ The candle’s sufficient. 

I won’t have them spying upon me-” Then 

he broke off abruptly and advanced into the 
darker shadows of the room. 

Following closely, Norris found himself in the 
corridor where the lamp also had been extin¬ 
guished. The beam from the candle pierced the 




THE VAULT 


23 


darkness like a golden shaft and fell presently 
across the face of the girl of the portrait. 

Norris, who had lost his sense of direction in 
the dark, was surprised, but the old man only 
chuckled silently. He held the candle close to 
the bright face and smiled at the girl in a con¬ 
fidential manner. 

“They haven’t got me yet, my dear,” he whis¬ 
pered to her with a knowing wink. “ And they 
won’t get me while you stand guard. They 
don’t know I have a potent charm to ward them 
off — eh, Granya, dear. I can laugh at them in 
spite of their threats,” and he cackled hollowly. 

“Uncle!” exclaimed Norris aghast. It was 
like listening to the shrill mirth of a maniac. 
Had he been mistaken? Was his uncle insane 
after all? 

“ No, no. It was nothing. Just an old man’s 
foolish fancy, my boy,” mumbled Jonas Field¬ 
ing, a sly look superseding the wildness in his 
eyes. “ It’s just a picture I bought many years 
ago. It is no one at all that I know. But we 
must hurry. It is getting late and the treasure 
is waiting.” 

Norris accepted the explanation although he 
did not credit it. He was fully persuaded now 
that the old man was mad. There was nothing 
to be gained by argument. He wished himself 


24 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


well out of the adventure; but, having promised, 
he was determined to see it through to the end. 

Jonas Fielding fumbled with the gilded frame 
for a moment and then swung it back on silent 
hinges, revealing a door of steel which he opened 
with a key that he wore about his neck on a 
chain. Then, holding the candle high above 
his head like a torch, he began to descend a 
flight of narrow stone steps. 

Norris followed uneasily. What was this 
vault in which his uncle kept his valuables? 
The cold damp air that rose from it to greet 
him put him in mind of the unpleasant chill of a 
tomb. 

What secret was buried in that stone mauso¬ 
leum into which he was being taken? Was his 
uncle crazy enough to incarcerate them both in 
that dark cell? 

To divert his mind from so morbid a fancy, 
Norris deliberately turned his thoughts upon the 
scene enacted the moment before in the corridor. 
Why did his uncle use the portrait to hide the 
entrance to the vault? And what was the sig¬ 
nificance of his words to the picture? 

That the portrait was that of some young 
woman with whom his uncle was acquainted, 
Norris was positive. Yet what young woman 
could possibly think enough of that horrible old 


THE VAULT 


25 


man to make him a present of her portrait? 

With a sudden shock Norris was brought back 
to his immediate surroundings. Jonas Fielding 
had reached the bottom step when suddenly a 
draft of air extinguished the candle, leaving them 
in a blackness so intense that Norris instinctively 
paused where he was standing. 

Then because he could neither see nor hear 
his uncle, and he feared that harm had come to 
the old man, Norris put out a foot and felt 
cautiously for the step below. But he did not 
descend any further. 

A wailing cry rose and fell and rose again, 
ringing despairingly through the impenetrable 
darkness below him! 


CHAPTER IV 


A Promise 

For one interminable second Norris stood 
rooted to the spot, frozen to the marrow by the 
ghostly horror of that sound. Then he plunged 
swiftly down the remaining steps. 

The wailing cry which had continued its dole¬ 
ful dirge without diminution until he moved, 
quivered into silence, and the unbroken stillness 
vibrating to the phantom of that lamentation, 
was far more terrible than the cry itself had 
been. 

The chemist, numbed by the sudden cessation 
of that sound, had just presence of mind enough 
to scratch a match. His fingers trembled so that 
he dropped the first vesta and broke the second. 
With his nerves atingle, expecting momentarily 
to hear the wail repeated, Norris finally secured 
a light; but his hand was so unsteady that the 
flame leaped up and down like a jagged point 
and cast distorted shadows on the wall beside 
him. 

In that instant, however, he had located the 
gas jet and he applied the flickering match with 
26 


A PROMISE 


27 


a fervid ejaculation of relief. Then he turned 
fearfully, anticipating he knew not what dread 
sight. 

The inadequate light revealed Jonas Fielding 
huddled against the stairs, the cabinets and boxes 
ranged along the bare walls. Norris hurried 
from object to object, peering behind boxes and 
underneath cabinets; but nothing unusual could 
he find. Except for himself and his uncle the 
vault was empty. 

The slap, slap of Jonas Fielding’s slippers as 
the latter came across the stone floor, chuckling 
to himself, made the younger man turn toward 
him in awe-struck amazement. Had Jonas 
Fielding been forewarned that he remained im¬ 
pervious to the horror of that cry? Had he, 
Norris, been brought down here to be terrorized? 
The thought was not to be borne. 

“Uncle,” he protested. 

The old man chuckled slightly. “I forgot to 
warn you, Phil. The sixth step from the bottom 
gives when you put your foot on it, making con¬ 
tact with a device in the wall. That cry can be 
heard in my rooms. It’s just a slight precaution 
that serves a double purpose; to frighten any 
one who may attempt an entrance through the 
vault, and to warn me of the approach of my 
enemies.” 


28 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


He sank his voice to a whisper and continued 
before Norris could interrupt, “You’re all right, 
my boy. Weren’t afraid, were you, eh?” 

The young man took out his handkerchief 
and mopped the cold moisture from his brow. 
Had he been afraid? He was half inclined to 
admit that he had experienced a sensation akin 
to fear, but the feeling had given place to resent¬ 
ment at the trick played upon him. Before he 
could find an appropriate answer, Jonas Fielding 
grinned and changed the subject. 

“We are wasting precious time, Phil. I want 
you to see my case.” His harsh voice dropped to 
a caressing note as he turned toward an oblong 
box, some seven feet long, covered with innu¬ 
merable hieroglyphics. 

“Inside that box,” continued the old man 
gloatingly, “lies the real mummy case, a gilded 
coffin inlaid with gems and colored glass, the 
resting-place of a long dead princess. The case 
was found in a tomb near Thebes that had 
escaped looting by robbers, so that the mummy 
is still intact.” 

But Norris only half-listened to this recital, 
thinking that his uncle looked doubly evil as 
his claw-like hands caressed the outer case. 

Presently Jonas Fielding plucked his nephew 
by the sleeve. “Phil, you’re not listening,” he 


A PROMISE 


29 


complained. “And it’s important that you 
should listen very attentively.” He paused and 
glanced around furtively as though he suspected 
eavesdroppers, then he lowered his voice. “Phil, 
I want to tell you something. Promise me 
that you will carry out my wishes word for word 
as I give them to you.” 

Norris looked sharply at his uncle. The old 
man’s eyes were bright and feverish and there 
was an expression of triumph mingled with dread 
in their blue depths. Again he told himself that 
his uncle was daft. 

“Promise, Phil,” Jonas Fielding begged again 
piteously, and to quiet him, Norris said simply, 
“I promise, Uncle.” 

“You must swear it, Phil. Swear by all you 
hold sacred that you will do what I ask.” The 
harsh voice trembled with emotion and Norris 
found himself complying. 

In broad daylight the request would have 
struck Norris as absurd; but here in the semi¬ 
darkness of the vault with the memory of his 
recent fright still distressingly vivid, the matter 
took on a different aspect. As one who humors 
the fancies of a sick child, he repeated quietly, 
“I swear.” 

The words echoed through the vault with a 
muffled sound. The young chemist was reminded 


SQ THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


of that scene in “ Hamlet ” when the prince 
makes his followers swear eternal silence and the 
ghost booms out in answer, “ Swear.” It seemed 
to him that some one answered mockingly 
through the darkness, “ Swear,” but he knew 
the vault was empty and he put it down to 
imagination. 

Jonas Fielding breathed easier when this oath 
was taken. He tapped his nephew on the arm. 
“You must listen carefully. I have enemies, 
Phil, many of them. I bought this case to fool 
them. You see, I am dying-” 

“Nonsense, Uncle.” 

The old man grinned sardonically. “We all 
have to come to it sometime. But I know my 
end is near. I feel it. A few days more and I 
shall be beyond their reach. Phil, they would 
kill me if they could.” 

“Who, Uncle?” Norris spoke soothingly. He 
was convinced that he was listening to the rav¬ 
ings of a mind imbalanced. 

Jonas Fielding looked fearfully around again. 
“My enemies. I can’t tell you who they are. 
But they want to kill me. They have wanted to 
these five years, and they haven’t been able to 
carry out their desire because I was too clever 
for them. I, Jonas T. Faraday, have lived here 
as Jonas Fielding all these years under their 



A PROMISE 


31 


very noses and they have not been able to reach 
me. They want to kill me, but I shall die in 
peace in spite of them.” His voice rose to a 
shrill note of triumph that sent a shiver down 
Norris’ spine. 

What a horrible delusion this fixed idea of his 
uncle’s was. The chemist cast about for some 
means to distract the old man’s attention, but the 
latter was not to be diverted from his intention. 
With the air of a conspirator, he sidled closer. 
“If you bury me, they will try to get my body. 
But I’ll cheat them yet. That is why I bought 
this case with the coffin inside. I care nothing 
for its beauty; nothing for the creature that lies 
within. It was to save myself I bought it.” 

“Yes, Uncle Jonas. And now that you have 
told me this, let’s return upstairs. This place is 
frightfully cold.” Norris spoke impatiently. 

Jonas Fielding shook his gray head. “You 
think I am mad. I’m more sane than you are, 
Phil. And I have only just begun.” He fumbled 
in the pocket of his dressing gown and pro¬ 
duced a small vial containing a colorless fluid. 
“The secret of the embalming fluid of the ancient 
Pharaoh,” he whispered in an exultant tone, 
holding the vial up to the light. “ I got it from 
an old man when I was in Egypt fifteen years 
ago.” He pressed the vial upon his nephew. 


32 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“You are a chemist. You will know how to use 
this. Your nerves are steady. You will not 
shrink from the task. When Fordney tells you 
that I am dead, you must come here alone and 
embalm me and put me in that case. Bury the 
mummy in my place and then seal up this 
vault. You have sworn, Phil.” 

Mounting horror prevented Norris from an¬ 
swering and the old man went on to curse his 
enemies. Beneath the intensity of the cracked 
voice that spat such venom, the young man con¬ 
tinued silent, unable to find words with which 
to stem the torrent of vituperation. 

With a last vicious denunciation, the old man 
turned upon his nephew with upraised arms. 
“ And you,” he shrieked wildly in his fury, 
“ remember you have sworn. If you dare to 
fail me, death and destruction will fall upon you 
and those you love.” 

Threats against himself, Norris could cope 
with. “ Oh, come, Uncle,” he exclaimed im¬ 
patiently for the scene had got on his nerves. 
“ A truce to such nonsense. I’ll do as you ask. 
And now let us go back upstairs. I’ve got to get 
home, you know.” 

Jonas Fielding’s withered countenance changed 
instantly from a mask of hatred to one of smiling 
benignity — if such a term could be used in 


A PROMISE 


33 


conjunction with so much wickedness. But he 
did not change without a supreme effort of the 
will. He was still breathing fast and his bony 
hands were trembling as he went on, “Just one 
minute, Phil. Will you do me one more favor?” 

“Well?” Norris’ voice was uncompromis¬ 
ing. He was suspicious of that seraphic smile. 

“ I may not be able to come down those steps 
again. I want to see that everything is in order 
with regard to the mummy case. I tried to open 
it this morning but the lock is caught in some 
way. Will you open the lid of the outer case 
for me, please?” 

Having humored the old man in entering the 
vault at all, Norris decided that it would be fool¬ 
ish to refuse this last harmless request. He 
stepped to the wooden box and examined the 
fastening. To his surprise he saw an up-to-date 
key-hole bored in the ancient wood. 

“ That’s queer,” he thought. “ It’s locked, 
Uncle. Have you got the key?” 

“ Key?” mumbled the old man. “ It doesn’t 
need a key. It’s just caught.” 

Norris cast about rapidly in search of help. 
On the top of one of the cabinets was a long, flat 
strip of bronze. It looked like a ferule and was 
covered with hieroglyphics. The value of the 
curio did not in the least deter the young man. 


34 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


He secured the instrument and inserted one end 
under the lid of the case just above the lock. 

There was a sound of straining, groaning wood 
and Jonas Fielding moaned in sympathy. “ Do 
be careful, Phil,” he cried in an agony of 
suspense. 

Norris paid no heed to his uncle. He was 
intent upon his task, so intent in fact that he 
failed to detect the slight sound behind him until 
it was too late. 

The next instant the light had been extin¬ 
guished and he turned sharply to find himself 
pinioned by a pair of strong arms. He was 
dimly aware that he raised the bronze ferule in 
self-defence and struck home once before a 
smashing blow sent him reeling back against the 
wooden case. He tried to save himself but in 
the pitch blackness he tripped and fell, striking 
his head against a sharp corner. Unconscious¬ 
ness mercifully blotted out the pain. 


CHAPTER V 

“ With the Same Measure that Ye Mete ” 

When Norris finally opened his eyes, he was 
sensible only of a dull throb in the back of his 
head. Gingerly he felt the unnatural swelling 
that assumed the proportions of a hen’s egg 
to his inexperienced touch as he tried to account 
for his undignified position on the cold stone 
floor of the vault. Gradually, out of the con¬ 
fused mass of his thoughts, the events of the 
past hour took definite shape before his mind. 

He had been attacked, and in the dark he had 
defended himself against his unknown assailant. 
The proof of that latter assumption remained 
in his hand. He was still grasping the bronze 
ferule as though his very life depended on it. 

Well, it was a good weapon to have in case 
of need. His antagonist might be waiting to 
rush him again. He had no idea how long he 
had remained unconscious; perhaps only a min¬ 
ute or two. His enemy might be skulking in the 
dark, ready to pounce at the first opportunity. 

Cautiously Norris raised himself to a sitting 
posture and listened intently for some sound 
35 


36 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


that would betray the other’s position. But only 
his own quickened breathing disturbed the eerie 
silence of the vault. He strained his eyes but 
could not even distinguish the boxes and cabi¬ 
nets that he knew should be ranged about the 
walls. 

Then came another thought. Who was this 
enemy? And how had he obtained entrance to 
the vault? Was he one of those whom his uncle 
feared, or had Jonas Fielding himself admitted 
this man into his treasure chamber? 

The first supposition was doubtless the true 
one since the wary old man was hardly likely 
to reveal the secret of his seclusion except under 
compulsion. But in that event, where was his 
uncle? Had Jonas Fielding fled at the first inti¬ 
mation of danger, leaving his nephew to bear the 
brunt of the attack? 

The wave of resetitment that swjept over 
Norris at the thought carried him to his feet and 
sent him groping through the dark toward the 
gas jet, regardless of peril to himself. But noth¬ 
ing untoward occurred. Not a sound broke the 
heavy stillness that enveloped him and he was 
forced to the conclusion that the vault was 
empty. 

Swiftly he struck a match and secured a light; 
then he turned and surveyed the room. As far 


WITH THE SAME MEASURE 37 


as he could tell in the feeble illumination, noth¬ 
ing had been disturbed. If robbery had been the 
motive for the intrusion, his assailant had de¬ 
parted empty-handed. Even the big oblong box 
that his uncle had purchased to use as a coffin 
was apparently untouched, unless indeed the 
inside mummy case had been removed. 

Norris crossed the vault and approached the 
outer case. One glance assured him that it was 
still locked, but he wasted no time in further 
investigation. That same glance had showed 
him something else in the shadows beyond the 
case, a dark splotch that resolved itself into a 
human figure as he advanced upon it. In an¬ 
other moment, with a startled exclamation, he 
was bending over the body of his uncle. 

Murder has a horrifying effect, however des¬ 
picable the victim. Though Norris was con¬ 
scious of no particular feeling of grief at the 
death of Jonas Fielding, yet the manner of that 
death held him stupefied for a moment or two 
before he roused himself to learn what he could 
of the tragedy. Being an amateur at this sort 
of game, Norris’ observations were purely super¬ 
ficial. 

Jonas Fielding was lying on his back, his 
wizened face pointed starkly toward the ceiling, 
his bony hands clutched convulsively at his side, 


38 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


his staring eyes protruding from their sockets 
as though he had gazed in terror on his mur¬ 
derer. His dressing-gown had been wrenched 
open and above the stained white shirt pro¬ 
jected a silver ring, the handle of a dagger. 
Below this ring was pinned a piece of paper on 
which had been inscribed in a large, unformed 
hand, 

“ With the same measure that ye mete, it shall 
be measured to you again.” 

Norris recognized the quotation as coming 
from the Bible and he wondered vaguely to which 
of his uncle’s many shady schemes the words 
referred. He was a good deal more intrigued by 
the pin that held the paper, a gold scarf pin 
whose head was formed of three tiny hands 
joined in friendship’s clasp. Around the rim 
was graven the motto, “Bona Fides.” 

Norris put out his hand to take the pin when 
the thought occurred that this was a case of 
murder and that he were wiser to leave things 
just as he had found them. Besides, murder 
was a matter for the police. What was he think¬ 
ing about, standing around as though there were 
nothing to be done. While he investigated, the 
murderer was making good his escape. 

This idea engendered the question, how had 
this man made his escape? Had he gone out 


WITH THE SAME MEASURE 39 


through the front door? If so, why had not 
Fordney stopped him? 

Norris crossed the vault, ran up the stone 
steps and along the dark corridor. At the end 
of the passage he ran into the blank wall with a 
sense of surprise. He had forgotten the means 
used to effect an entrance into his uncle’s 
stronghold. Loudly he called the old servant. 
Silence — and in the pregnant darkness voices 
that whispered of the possibility of another 
tragedy. The young chemist called again 
sharply, insistently. 

“ What is it? Did you call, sir?” came in the 
wavering voice of Fordney as from a great 
distance. 

“ Turn on the light,” Norris exclaimed per¬ 
emptorily. The darkness had become oppres¬ 
sive. 

A click and the corridor was once more illu¬ 
mined by that soft, subdued glow. Norris spoke 
curtly. “ Where have you been?” 

Fordney looked at the chemist in wide-eyed 
amazement. “ In my room, Mr. Phil. On the 
second floor, sir. But what’s wrong. You’re 
white to the lips.” He uttered a faint cry. “ He 
hasn’t killed himself, Mr. Phil?” 

Norris made tight-lipped answer. “ No, but 
some one else has. He’s been murdered. Didn’t 
you hear any sounds, any cries for help?” 


40 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ No, sir. Not a sound. But, Mr. Phil,” 
hesitantly, “ couldn’t you have prevented it? 
You were with Mr. Fielding.” 

Norris laughed grimly, although he was in no 
mood for laughter. “ Prevented it? When I 
was stretched out unconscious on the floor?” 

“ Mr. Phil, sir.” Fordney was shocked. 
“ But who could have done it, sir?” 

Norris sobered instantly. “ Just what I was 
about to ask you. Who are these enemies that 
Uncle Jonas mentioned?” 

Fordney made a helpless gesture. “ I don’t 
know, Mr. Phil. He never told me anything.” 

“ Could any one have left this house without 
your knowledge, Fordney?” 

“ No, sir. There is only one key that unlocks 
the wall. It has never left my possession, sir.” 

“ Keys can be duplicated.” 

“ But it is impossible for any one to find the 
lock, sir. It’s too cleverly concealed.” 

“ Hum. Well, I’m going for the police.” The 
word had carried with it an image of a bulky 
form in blue that had challenged Norris out of 
the storm. “ It’s up to them to discover the 
truth. Open this wall and leave it open.” 

Fordney inserted a key in the skilfully hidden 
lock. As he swung open the door, he added, 
“ Mr. Phil, no one could have passed through 


WITH THE SAME MEASURE 41 


this door. There is a device connected with it, 
sir, to warn us of danger. Like the step in the 
vault.” 

“ It’s possible then to disconnect this device?” 
inquired Norris, for the door had opened noise¬ 
lessly. 

“ Yes, sir. By moving the key upwards and 
slightly to the left, sir. But no one but myself 
would know how to do it.” 

“ As I said before, it’s up to the police. Go 
down to the vault and keep watch over Uncle 
Jonas. For anything we know to the contrary, 
the murderer may still be in the house.” 

Reluctantly Fordney obeyed. Norris watched 
him out of sight, then he hurried down the 
smaller corridor and across the entrance hall 
where he secured his overcoat and hat. Swing¬ 
ing open the heavy front door, he stepped out 
into the storm. Under the rays of the arc light 
on the comer, he discovered the policeman he 
was seeking. 

The latter was engaged in giving directions to 
a slender young woman wrapped in a heavy fur 
coat, for as Norris approached he heard the 
policeman remark, “ Two to your left. If you 
keep close to the houses on this block, you can’t 
go far wrong, even in this storm.” 

The young woman thanked him and moved 


42 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


away just as Norris reached the outer rays of 
the lamp. He was too taken up with his own 
affairs to wonder whether he might not be of 
service to her, as he would assuredly have done 
under more auspicious circumstances. Instead 
he poured out a strange tale that made Officer 
Gordon open his eyes wide in astonishment. 

“ You must be mistaken, sir. That house is 
empty,” exclaimed the upholder of the law. 

Norris negatived the suggestion. “ I’m not 
mistaken, Officer. Perhaps my name will con¬ 
vince you of the veracity of my story. I am 
Philip Norris, experimental chemist. I have 
been doing some work for the government lately. 
You have probably seen my name in the papers 
recently.” 

Gordon’s manner changed subtly, became 
deferential. “ Yes, Mr. Norris, but,” here he 
looked perplexed and shook his head as he fol¬ 
lowed the young man toward the house, “ I’ve 
been on this beat for months and beyond the old 
man who looks after it, that house is empty.” 
He voiced a sudden suspicion. “ Didn’t Ford- 
ney say he took you in to look over the 
premises?” 

“ A ruse on Fordney’s part to get rid of you. 
Look here,” Norris said, annoyed, “ I know 
nothing about the place except what I am telling 


WITH THE SAME MEASURE 43 


you. My uncle lived in the back part behind 
bolts and bars and now he has been murdered. 
The rest is up to you.” 

The policeman entered the house and tramped 
along the dim hall in silence. Once or twice he 
stole a sharp glance at the young man, a glance 
that Norris intercepted as he led the way through 
the open door in the wall. 

“ Humph,” the chemist mentally ejaculated, 
“ he thinks I’m playing a joke upon him. He 
doesn’t want to be made a fool of; yet he is not 
averse to getting in out of the storm on any 
pretext.” 

When they reached the entrance to the vault, 
Norris descended first, cautioning the policeman 
to avoid the trick step. The latter grunted and 
followed lumberingly. 

Near the body of Jonas Fielding, Fordney 
was standing guard, the bronze ferule in his bony 
hand. Impassively Gordon studied the situa¬ 
tion. Presently he turned to Norris and ad¬ 
dressed him: 

“ Doesn’t seem to be any entrance to this 
place but the door above. You say yourself 
that no one could have come in that way. Sure 
you didn’t dream that some one hit you. You 
may have tripped of your own accord.” He 
lowered his voice, “ Or that the some one who 


44 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


attacked you wasn’t-” and he jerked his big 

blond head in Fordney’s direction. 

“ Nonsense,” returned Norris quickly. “ Why 
should he? Besides, I wasn’t dreaming. The 
man who attacked me was a powerful fellow. 
More your build than Fordney’s.” His eye 
alighted on the ferule. He started and took the 
weapon unceremoniously from Fordney’s weak 
grasp. 

“ Here’s proof that it was no nightmare en¬ 
counter, Officer,” Norris exclaimed. “ I seem 
to have made some slight impression on the 
fellow. Look here.” 

He beckoned the policeman to the light and 
pointed to the edge of the ferule. The bright 
surface of the metal was clouded here and there 
by what looked like a brown film. 

“ This strip is fairly sharp,” continued Norris. 
“ I must have wounded him on the shoulder. 
Much the same effect as though I had gashed 
him with a knife. As far as I could judge in 
the dark, he wore no coat.” 

Again the policeman grunted and eyed Ford¬ 
ney’s thin figure disapprovingly. “ I guess it’s 
a job for Headquarters, sir. Is there a telephone 
in the house?” 

Fordney answered, “ No, sir. Mr. Fielding 
refused to have one installed.” 



WITH THE SAME MEASURE 45 


“ There’s a drug store on the corner above 
this one,” remarked Gordon dispassionately. 
“ Might I ask you to call Headquarters, sir. I’ll 
have to stay here to see that nothing’s touched.” 


CHAPTER VI 

Sergeant Williams Assumes Command 

As Norris battled his way through the whirl¬ 
ing snow toward the drug store, his mind occu¬ 
pied itself with the details of the murder. He had 
said that the discovery of the truth relating to 
the crime rested with the police. Nevertheless, 
he could not help attempting to solve the prob¬ 
lem for himself. 

In the first place, what had been the motive 
for the crime? From the quotation on the paper 
pinned to his uncle’s breast, Norris deduced logi¬ 
cally that the murder was one of retribution. 
Nor was this idea incongruous with what he 
knew of his uncle’s reputation, and of the fact 
that the old man had evidently lived in fear of 
just such a tragedy. 

Then the crime was the work of an enemy. 
His uncle had spoken of enemies. Which one 
was responsible for the ghastly deed? Norris 
could not answer that question, since he had no 
intimate knowledge of his uncle’s affairs. 

How had the murderer entered and escaped 
from the house? At this point Norris stopped 

46 


WILLIAMS ASSUMES COMMAND 47 


short and clapped his hand to his head like a 
person who has just made an important dis¬ 
covery. 

“ What an idiot I am,” he groaned inaudibly. 
“ The murderer must have been hiding in the 
house when I left to summon Gordon. I had 
every door wide open while I was out of the 
house, and Fordney was in the vault, too far 
away to notice anything unusual. All the crimi¬ 
nal had to do was to walk out and disappear into 
the storm, thanks to my stupidity.” 

He hurried on again, eager to turn the case 
over to competent hands, disgusted with himself 
for the blunder he had committed. When he 
reached the drug store, however, he was forced 
to wait. Some one was in possession of the only 
telephone booth the pharmacy boasted. 

As Norris waited, impatiently drumming his 
fingers on the glass top of the prescription coun¬ 
ter, he was startled by the touch of a hand on his 
arm. He whirled abruptly to confront a tall, 
gaunt man — quite evidently the gentleman — 
whose dark eyes smouldered fiercely from out a 
thin, chalk-like face. 

Norris noted the fur-lined overcoat, the well 
brushed fedora set a bit rakishly on the fine 
white head, the chaste blood-stone ring on a 
long, thin finger, the expensive cigar in the 


48 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


stranger’s hand before he realized that the man 
was addressing him for the second time. 

“ I beg your pardon, but I believe you dropped 
this purse a moment-” The rest of the sen¬ 

tence was cut short by a sudden fit of cough¬ 
ing. 

When the man recovered his breath, he held 
out toward Norris a flat, leather wallet which the 
latter recognized as his property. Dumb- 
foundedly Norris accepted the wallet. How on 
earth had he come to drop it? Was it possible 
that he had slipped it inside his coat instead of 
his inner pocket, when he had removed it to 
extract a bill to make change for his telephone 
call? He lifted his eyes from the purse to thank 
the stranger, but the latter was already walking 
out of the store. 

Norris turned to the elderly druggist who had 
been watching the scene with keen interest. 
“ Who is he?” Norris inquired. 

“ That’s Arlita Farrell’s father. You’ve heard 
of her, haven’t you?” 

Norris assented. “ Hirshkoff’s find? The girl 
who danced her way to fame in Paris several 
years ago and then signed up for the stellar role 
in Hirshkoff’s latest musical comedy? So that’s 
her father?” 

“ Yes. They live near here in Gramercy 



WILLIAMS ASSUMES COMMAND 49 


Park. He comes in often to buy cigars and pass 
the time of day. He’s a fine old chap. Proud 
as can be of his daughter’s success.” 

“ What’s wrong with him? He looks frail and 
somewhat consumptive to me,” Norris added, 
for the man had interested him. 

“ I don’t know. He’s had that cough since 
I’ve known him. Some day it will be the death 
of him. He won’t take care of himself. Goes 
out at all hours, in good weather and bad.” 

The druggist turned away to wait on a cus¬ 
tomer and Norris walked over to the telephone 
booth. It was about time, he thought, and 
paused. The door was closed but the booth was 
empty. Strange that he hadn’t noticed the 
occupant leave. 

He pulled open the door and stepped back 
hastily in profound amazement. Crouched on 
the floor of the booth was a young woman, 
scarcely more than a girl, who stared up at him 
with quivering lips and wide, terrified blue eyes. 
From beneath a sable toque straggled limp 
bronze curls; she was clutching her fur coat 
closely about her with a slender white hand and 
the light from the booth fell directly upon the 
ring she was wearing, three tiny gold hands 
joined in friendship’s clasp. 

Norris started, but before he could utter a 


50 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


word, she had jumped up and sprung past him. 
By the time that he had collected his senses 
sufficiently to follow, she had vanished into the 
night and storm. 

Bewildered and perturbed, Norris slowly re¬ 
turned to the booth and communicated with 
police headquarters. The action was purely 
mechanical on his part. Somehow he had lost 
interest in the tragedy of the earlier evening. 
His uncle’s death meant nothing in particular 
to Norris, beyond the natural desire to discover 
the murderer. He was far more intrigued by the 
mystery of the girl. 

Why had she hidden in the telephone booth? 
Was it because she had seen him coming toward 
her? Surely he was not one to inspire terror 
in a young girl. Or was it because she had 
feared to be recognized? Somewhere he had 
seen that girl before. 

Norris scorned to question the druggist al¬ 
though he saw the latter regarding him with 
curious eyes. He left the drug store and headed 
for his uncle’s house. 

Who was she? He was tantalized by the 
knowledge that he had seen her before and 
quite recently, that very day, in fact. He re¬ 
called that her coat was sable, the only fur 
besides ermine and squirrel that he knew at a 


WILLIAMS ASSUMES COMMAND 51 


glance, because his mother wore one. Then 
suddenly he had it. That fur coat. She was 
the young woman that Gordon was directing 
when he had summoned the policeman to his 
uncle’s house. 

Norris shook his head irritably, teased by a 
subtle memory. He was only partly on the the 
right scent. He had noticed the coat, yes, but 
he had not seen her face on that occasion. Yet 
he was positive that her face too was familiar 
to him. Sapphire eyes and auburn ringlets. 
Where had he encountered that combination 
before? 

He had entered the gloomy old house and 
passed through the door in the wall when, quick 
as a flash, the truth came home to him. It was 
her portrait that stood at the end of the corridor, 
guarding the entrance to the vault! 

So she knew his uncle. And his uncle had 
been recently murdered. More, she was wear¬ 
ing a ring whose symbology was identical with 
that of the pin with which the paper had been 
fastened to his uncle’s breast. Could it be pos¬ 
sible— 

Nonsense. What an absurd idea. That lovely 
girl commit murder? As soon suspect himself. 

Then why had she been so terrified? And 
what was she doing out alone in that storm so 



52 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


near the scene of the crime? Did she, too, live 
in the neighborhood, like Arlita Farrell and her 
father? But, if such were the case, she could 
have phoned as well from her own home. 

Such idle conjectures were endless. Norris 
turned his thoughts in another direction. He’d 
give a lot to know just what her connection 
with his uncle had been, and why she had given 
the old man her portrait. 

When he reached the vault door, Norris 
paused. He would have another look at the 
portrait to make certain that he was not mis¬ 
taken. In order to do so, he would have to 
close the vault door and swing the heavy gold 
frame containing the painting into place again. 
He had barely laid his hand on the heavy steel 
portal when Officer Gordon called to him from 
the vault. 

So peculiar was the intonation of that phleg¬ 
matic voice that Norris hastened to answer the 
summons, wondering what new discovery had 
been made. In the poor light Norris saw that 
the policeman was bending over the body of 
Jonas Fielding. As he approached, Gordon 
spoke excitedly, “ Look here, Mr. Norris. What 
do you think of this evidence?” 

Norris stooped and looked where the police¬ 
man was pointing. The old man’s dressing- 


WILLIAMS ASSUMES COMMAND S3 


gown had been cut at the shoulder by some sharp 
instrument that had gashed the flesh beneath as 
well. “ Don’t you see, Mr. Norris,” whispered 
the policeman. “ It was him you wounded. It 
was him put out the light and attacked you. 
There wasn’t any one else in here but you two.” 

“ Good heavens,” ejaculated Norris helplessly. 
His brain was in a whirl. He would not have 
believed such a thing possible, had he not seen 
the evidence with his own eyes. Still there 
must have been some one else in the vault; 
some one who had eventually killed Jonas 
Fielding — unless the old man had committed 
suicide with the intention to incriminate- 

The unpleasant thought was interrupted by a 
loud pounding at the front door. The delega¬ 
tion from the Central Office had arrived. Norris 
sent the silent, watchful Fordney to admit them. 
Presently there was the sound of a deep rum¬ 
bling voice and of heavy steps on the bare 
flooring. 

“ It’s Sergeant Williams,” muttered Gordon in 
an aside to Norris as a thick-set, broad-faced 
man with shrewd, bright eyes and a pendulous 
jowl set foot on the stone steps. 

Norris called out a warning and the sergeant 
paused in his majestic descent. He favored the 
young chemist with a frowning glance. 



54 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ What kind of a song and dance is this you’re 
giving me?” the detective demanded suspi¬ 
ciously. 

Norris instantly conceived a dislike of the 
man for doubting his word. He shrugged. “ If 
you don’t believe me, try walking on the sixth 
step from the bottom and perhaps you will be 
convinced.” 

Williams grunted; put out a tentative foot, let 
it rest heavily on the stone tread. Immediately 
there arose through the somber stillness a wail¬ 
ing cry — to be choked off abruptly by the 
swift removal of the sergeant’s boot. 

“ Freeman,” he boomed peremptorily. 

A rubicund, rosy-cheeked little man, who 
looked more like a prosperous grocer than a 
plain-clothesman, appeared from behind the 
sergeant’s broad back and saluted. 

“ Open up that step and see what’s respon¬ 
sible for making that infernal noise,” com¬ 
manded Williams. 

“ I’ll have to get a pick, sir-” 

“ Well — get it then,” interrupted his supe¬ 
rior testily. 

Freeman vanished along the passage. Wil¬ 
liams continued his descent. When he reached 
the vault floor, he crossed to the place where 
Norris and the policeman were standing. As he 



WILLIAMS ASSUMES COMMAND 55 


caught the sergeant's eye, Gordon saluted, and 
asked for permission to return to his neglected 
duties. 

“ I’m supposed to be on my beat until eight, 
sir,” he added. 

“ What were you doing here in the first 
place?” demanded Williams. 

“ Mr. Norris called me in, sir, when he dis¬ 
covered the murder,” answered Gordon. 

Williams nodded a dismissal. “ All right, 
you can go. I’ll get your evidence later.” 

Gordon tramped away and Williams resumed 
his official manner. He began at once an ex¬ 
haustive examination of the body of Jonas 
Fielding. 

In scornful silence Norris watched the detec¬ 
tive finger the silver ring in the old man’s breast, 
purse his lips over the wound on the shoulder, 
and frown meditatively over the quotation on 
the paper. If Williams noticed the look on 
Norris’ face, he gave no sign of it. Impassively 
he continued his task of collecting his evi¬ 
dence. 

Presently, he unpinned the paper, looked care¬ 
fully at the gold scarf pin, and put both articles 
away in a capacious pocket for future reference. 
Then he turned to Norris and demanded a full 
account of the tragedy. 


CHAPTER VII 
The Face of the Portrait 

Norris complied with the sergeant’s request 
readily enough, relating the events which led 
up to the tragedy briefly, dwelling more particu¬ 
larly on the murder and his subsequent actions; 
omitting, however, one detail, his encounter with 
the girl of the portrait. For some reason that 
he did not at the moment stop to analyze, 
Norris could not bring himself to speak of her 
to the police. 

Williams heard Norris through without com¬ 
ment. At the conclusion of the recital, he took 
up the bronze ferule, examined it minutely, and 
then applied it to the wound in Jonas Fielding’s 
shoulder. 

“ Hump,” the detective remarked presently. 
“ I guess you’re right. What made him attack 
you?” 

“ I don’t know,” replied Norris in a troubled 
voice. “I can’t understand his motive at all.” 

“ You hadn’t said something to anger him, for 
instance?” 

“ Not a thing. I was simply complying with 
his wishes in every respect, even against my own 

56 


THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 57 


better judgment.” Norris laid his hand on the 
wooden case. “ As I told you, my uncle ex¬ 
pressed the desire to be buried in the mummy 
case inside this box. He asked me as a favor 
to open the box for him. As there was no key, 
I was trying to force the lock with that ferule, 
when the light went out and I felt myself 
attacked. I had no idea that my assailant was 
Uncle Jonas, and naturally I struck back in 
self-defence.” 

“ In other words, your uncle asked you to 
open the box, and then when you complied he 
prevented you from doing so by grappling with 
you.” There was a trace of irony in the deep 
tones. 

Norris stirred uneasily. “ I know it sounds 
absurd, but it is the truth, and the only account 
I can give of the occurrence,” he returned with 
quiet dignity. 

Williams said nothing. He removed a bunch 
of keys from his pocket and tried them on the 
lock. Presently he found one that suited his 
purpose and he flung back the lid of the box. 
To Norris’ profound astonishment, the recep¬ 
tacle was empty. 

Williams glanced suspiciously at the younger 
man. “A mummy case did you say, Mr. 
Norris?” he inquired with heavy sarcasm. 


58 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ I can only repeat what my uncle told me. 
Remember that I did not succeed in opening the 
box.” Norris felt the impulse to defend him¬ 
self under the searching fire of the detective’s 
glance. He sensed that he was rather close to 
the danger line. 

It was at this critical juncture that a shout 
from the corridor distracted Williams’ attention 
and put an end to the cross-examination. A 
second plain-clothesman, the antithesis of Free¬ 
man, tall, thin, dark, appeared at the head of the 
steps. 

“ Quick, Sergeant,” he called. “ The old 
servant- Good God, what a house.” 

Norris was the first to move. He fairly flew 
up the steps and down the corridor. At the door 
of the library he paused. The room was bril¬ 
liantly illuminated. On the floor beneath the 
one barred window lay the crumpled form of 
the man who had served Jonas Fielding faith¬ 
fully for so many years. 

At the sight, Norris exclaimed aloud and knelt 
down beside the inert figure. He did not need 
to be told what had happened. He could easily 
guess. He lifted a limp, burned hand and let it 
drop listlessly. 

He recalled the days when Fordney used to 
accompany Jonas Fielding to the Norris’ home, 



THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 59 


how kind the old fellow had always been to him, 
and he buried his face in his hands. 

Williams, following more leisurely, took in 
the beautiful old room, the evidences of wealth 
so at variance with the front of the house, the 
indications of culture, the barred window, the 
still figure and the unstrung young chemist. He 
whistled softly with raised eyebrows, then he 
spoke to his subordinate. 

“ What happened?” he asked dispassionately. 

“ I was searching this room and spotted that 
window. It looked queer to me, barred like 
that, and I went over to have a look at it.” 
Daniels’ voice shook and he paused to regain 
control of himself. 

“ The old fellow was over there,” he went on 
presently. “ Suddenly he jumped on me and 
pushed me away. I thought he was trying to 
put something over on me so I gave him a jab 
to get him out of my way. He fell back and 
his hand grazed the bars, and he dropped like a 
log. My God, don’t touch them, sir. They’re 
wired,” he cried out as Williams approached the 
window. He had been very close to death, this 
man, and he could not easily forget the horror 
of it. 

Williams inspected the bars from a safe dis¬ 
tance. Wired were they? For what reason? 


60 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Is there any one else in this house, Daniels?” 

“ No, sir. I’ve searched the place thoroughly. 
The front part of the house has been unused 
for years. The whole place is thick with dust.” 

Williams frowned with annoyance. The ser¬ 
vant, then, was the only one that could give 
information about the murdered man. Now, 
to make a bad matter worse, he had stupidly got 
himself killed. 

As if to give the lie to Williams’ thought of 
him, Fordney stirred and groaned feebly. In¬ 
stantly the detective became a man of action. 

“ Send for an ambulance, Daniels, and have 
him taken to Bellevue.” Williams paused. 
Through the empty house reverberated the hol¬ 
low sound of knocking. “ That’s probably 
Morehouse. Admit him and send him down to 
the vault.” 

Williams turned on his heel and left the room. 
A moment Norris remained undecided whether 
to stay with Fordney or go with Williams. 
Realizing that he could do nothing for the old 
servant, Norris permitted his interest in the 
tragedy to outbalance his grief. It was to his 
advantage to learn all he could concerning the 
murder. 

He had hardly descended the vault steps when 
Daniels admitted a tall, distinguished man who 


THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 61 


bore the unmistakable air of a police surgeon. 
Williams greeted the medical examiner and in¬ 
troduced him rather pompously to Norris. 

Morehouse, who was a genial sort and some¬ 
thing of a chemist, instantly engaged Norris in 
conversation regarding one of the latter’s recent 
experiments until Williams rather curtly re¬ 
minded the surgeon that a certain duty lay 
before him. 

With a comical lift of the eyebrows More¬ 
house dismounted his hobby and set to work at 
his task. Presently he addressed Williams. 

“ What did you make of this weapon, Ser¬ 
geant?” 

“ It looked to me like the head of a skewer,” 
answered Williams bluntly. “ Never saw one 
made of silver before, though.” 

Morehouse nodded thoughtfully. Inserting 
a finger in the ring, he pulled out the instru¬ 
ment of death. It came away dripping with 
blood, in shape like a skewer but made of silver 
and sharpened to a fine point. 

After a close scrutiny Morehouse passed the 
weapon to Williams who examined the ring 
attentively. Norris, peering over the detective’s 
shoulder, saw that there were some marks 
scratched upon the circumference, but he could 
not determine their meaning. 


62 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Williams mulled over the dagger a few mo¬ 
ments in silence. “ A queer weapon to choose.” 
He jerked a thick thumb upwards. “ Do you 
suppose the servant killed his master? He’d 
have skewers handy if any one would.” 

Norris took umbrage at the unfounded 
assumption. “ Forthright has served my uncle 
faithfully for years,” he remarked coldly. 
“ Why should he suddenly want to kill him?” 

“ You never can tell. I’ve known cases 
where servants have held a grudge for years.” 
Williams gazed at the chemist’s vexed counte¬ 
nance cogitatively. “ What did you mean by 
calling him Forthright? He told me himself that 
his name was Fordney.” 

Norris realized that in allowing himself to 
imagine that the detective was stupid, he had 
blundered badly. “ My uncle’s whims were laws 
to his servant. He called himself Fordney be¬ 
cause my uncle asked him to,” he answered. 

“ You’re pretty gullible, Mr. Norris. When a 
man changes his name, there’s more than a whim 
behind it. Don’t forget that.” 

Norris permitted the discussion to drop. He 
had no intention of telling Williams that his 
answer had been prompted by the desire to shield 
Fordney. Let the detective think him gullible 
if he wanted to. 


THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 63 


Morehouse broke the ensuing silence. “Pm 
afraid my testimony will be rather brief. Mr. 
Fielding died instantly from the thrust. He’s 
not been dead more than half an hour to an 
hour. From the look in his eyes, I’d be inclined 
to say that he died in mortal terror of some¬ 
body or something.” 

With a grunt Williams pocketed the weapon, 
just as Freeman appeared at the head of the 
steps with a pick slung over one shoulder. 

“ The ambulance is here, sir,” he remarked as 
he set to work to demolish the sixth step. 

Williams gave Morehouse a brief account of 
the accident and asked him to accompany Ford- 
ney to the hospital. Morehouse nodded and 
left the vault. 

By this time Freeman had dislodged the tread 
which proved to be made of wood but finished 
to resemble stone. Fastened to the tread was an 
armature which the slightest pressure on the 
step brought into contact with an electro-magnet 
concealed in the cavity beneath. The current 
thus generated was carried through wires to 
an apparatus in the wall which had produced the 
strange cry that Norris had heard. 

When Williams had satisfied himself concern¬ 
ing the device, he invited Norris to accompany 
him to the library. 


64 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Sit down, Mr. Norris. I want to ask you 
some questions. First of all let’s have every¬ 
thing you know about this uncle of yours.” 

Norris dropped wearily into an arm-chair. 
Now that the tension had relaxed somewhat, he 
appreciated how tired he was. He raised somber 
eyes to the detective. 

“ To begin with his name was Jonas T. Fara¬ 
day and he was my mother’s brother. My 
recollection of him is hazy. He visited us once 
or twice when I was a youngster and he brought 
Forthright with him. In later years Mother 
never used to mention him especially, but I 
gathered the impression that Uncle Jonas was 
a rich man, as you can see for yourself from 
this room and the treasure downstairs.” 

“ By the way, are those things in the vault 
really valuable?” inquired Williams. 

“They are worth a small fortune. That stuff 
is almost all Egyptian,” exclaimed Norris, 
amazed at the detective’s ignorance, since he, 
who was no connoisseur, recognized their true 
value. 

Williams lifted his broad shoulders. “ I see 
so much fake stuff, you know. Evidently rob¬ 
bery was not the motive for the crime. But go 
on with your story. It’s growing late.” 

“ There isn’t much more. My mother heard 


THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 65 


of him last about fifteen years ago, I think. I 
assumed naturally that he was dead. He told 
me himself that he had been living in this house 
for five years.” 

“ Why?” 

Norris hesitated, then continued frankly, “ I 
really don’t know, though I can guess pretty 
well. One should not speak ill of the dead, 
particularly of one’s relatives, but my uncle 
was not above carrying on dishonorable trans¬ 
actions— in a business way. I know that he 
had enemies — more than one — of whom he 
stood in mortal fear, because he repeated over 
and over, ‘ They want to kill me, Phil.’ ” 

“ Whom did he mean by ‘they ’?” 

“ He refused to tell me.” 

Williams eyed the chemist curiously. “ It’s 
no go, Mr. Norris. You can’t put me off the 
track by any such ambiguous evidence. You 
know more than you’re telling and I’m here 
to find out who killed your uncle.” 

Norris flushed angrily at the implication, the 
more so that there flashed into his mind the 
significant fact that the girl of the portrait had 
been wearing that peculiar ring. Even so, Wil¬ 
liams had no right to address him in that fashion. 

Norris rose and walked to the door. He did 
not want to quarrel, for after all the detective 


66 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


was only doing his duty, albeit a trifle crudely, 
and Norris knew that he could not trust himself 
to speak dispassionately. 

Williams, though he might be crude, was by 
no means a fool. He saw that he had gone too 
far and that by affronting the chemist’s self¬ 
esteem, he had alienated the young man to such 
an extent that the chance of learning anything 
further from him would be slight. 

The detective went over to Norris and placed 
a deprecating hand on the latter’s arm. “ I was 
only chafing you, Mr. Norris. Anything at all 
that you can tell me will be most humbly appre¬ 
ciated,” he said with an elephantine attempt at 
lightness. 

Norris was sensitive but he was also as quick 
to forgive as he was to take offense. He re¬ 
turned to his chair mollified. 

A flock of questions fluttered through his 
brain and he broke out impetuously, “ It seems 
to me, Sergeant, that you’re overlooking the one 
real clue in the whole weird business. Who owns 
the scarf pin that was used to fasten the paper?” 

“ I’d hardly call it the one real clue,” amended 
Williams. “ There is nothing significant about 
it to show that it did not belong to your uncle. 
The dagger, too, may have been his. I’m more 
interested in learning why your uncle attacked 


THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 67 


you and what he meant by saying there was a 
mummy case in that wooden box.” 

Norris was thinking, “ And I should like to 
know why that young girl was so intimate with 
my uncle.” 

Williams continued, “ I shouldn’t be at all 
surprised to learn that the servant killed his 
master, or, if he did not commit the actual 
murder, Fordney was an accessory and that 
accident is simply a dodge to avert suspicion 
and avoid answering questions at the inquest. 
But I’m not going to let him get away with it. 
When he leaves the hospital, Daniels goes with 
him.” 

Norris was amused at the self-importance of 
the man at the same time that he was indignant 
over the accusation. “ Fordney knows nothing 
of my uncle’s death. The accident is bona fide 
and it may happen that Fordney will not re¬ 
cover. What then?” 

“ I have more than one string to my bow. 
There is your uncle’s past life to look up. And 
there is the dealer who sold the case. By the 
way, what did you say his name was?” 

Norris avoided the trap. “ I didn’t say. My 
uncle mentioned the name to me when he was 
talking about the case. It’s a queer, foreign 
name. Kasti — Kasta-” 



68 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Kastamuni?” suggested Williams. 

“ That’s it. Do you know him?” 

“ I’ve heard of him. He has a place on Fifth 
Avenue. He’ll have to explain what he meant 
by selling the box under false pretenses. They 
are all in it. The dealer, the servant, and the 
murderer. But before I’m through they’re going 
to tell me what they know. Somebody admitted 
the man who killed your uncle.” 

Norris, looking at the massive face with its 
pugnacious jaw, was thankful that he was not 
numbered among the suspects, although he had 
the feeling that even he was not immune. 

“ It hasn’t occurred to him as a fact yet. I’d 
better go before he decides to arrest me on 
suspicion.” Norris rose. “ If that is all,” he 
said perfunctorily, “ I might as well be going.” 

“ Just a moment. Where is the key to the 
vault door?” Williams stepped out into the 
corridor and approached the big steel portal. 

“ Uncle Jonas had it on a chain around his 
neck,” answered Norris. 

“ It’s not there now. I searched him 
thoroughly.” Williams swung the door to. “ I 

wanted to lock the vault-” He broke off 

to stare at the back of the picture frame. 
“ What’s this?” 

“ A portrait that my uncle used to hide the 



THE FACE OF THE PORTRAIT 69 


entrance. I don’t know who it is,” responded 
Norris reluctantly. 

Williams turned the frame and swung it into 
place. Norris, eager for another glimpse of that 
perfect face, stepped forward. Then he paused 
in bewilderment. 

The beautiful face had been scratched and 
scored beyond all recognition. 


CHAPTER VIII 
A Friend in Need 

Williams, unmoved by the surprising occur¬ 
rence, as became a police officer who had had 
long acquaintance with the devious ways of 
criminals, passed a thick thumb over the marred 
surface of the canvas. 

“ Been cut with a sharp knife,” he stated 
bluntly. He continued to study the mutilated 
portrait with judicious eyes. “ Whoever ruined 
that picture was mighty anxious to keep us from 
recognizing the original,” he added after a 
slight pause. “ I wonder who she might have 
been. The old man’s wife, do you think?” 

Norris had been staring at the picture in a 
daze of noncomprehension, stunned by the act 
of vandalism. At the detective’s question, he 
flung out his slender hands in a gesture of re¬ 
pugnance. 

“ No, certainly she isn’t his wife,” he replied 
curtly, eyeing Williams with unconcealed dis¬ 
favor. As a matter of fact there was no cer¬ 
tainty about the question. He could not have 
told what made him reject the proposition with 
such violence. 


70 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


71 


“ Your uncle was a bachelor, then?” inquired 
Williams, swinging the frame around to study 
the back of the canvas. 

“ I haven’t the remotest idea.” 

“ Then how can you state so confidently that 
this painting is not a picture of his wife?” 

Norris passed his fingers nervously through 
his thick hair. He had to admit in all justice 
that Williams had logic on his side. “ I can’t 
be positive, of course,” he returned irritably. 
“ I know she wasn’t and that is good enough for 
me.” 

Williams laughed, Gargantuanly good- 
humored. “ You’re young, Mr. Norris, and 
you don’t like to think of youth mated with 
age. But it’s done quite often I assure you, 
and it was done in this case, too. Just look 
here. This is proof enough for me.” He pointed 
to some faint pencil marks on the back of the 
canvas. 

Norris stepped closer and with difficulty de¬ 
ciphered the phrase “ For my husband,” and 
below it the name “ Granya.” 

He recalled swiftly his uncle’s words to the 
portrait before their descent to the vault. The 
old man had spoken almost tenderly. Norris’ 
thoughts fled to the girl as he had seen her 
crouching in the telephone booth. He would 


72 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


never believe that she was his uncle’s wife in 
spite of the evidence of the portrait. If she had 
been — why hadn’t Fordney mentioned (her? 
Why had she fled from the house? Or had she 
been responsible in some way for the murder 
of his uncle? 

The whole thing was a nightmare horror, a 
web of tangled facts that he could not unravel 
alone. The gloom of the old house was re¬ 
sponsible for his state of mind. Once he got 
away from the place he would be able to think 
clearly again. 

He glanced at his wrist watch, murmured 
something about being late for dinner, wished 
Williams good-evening, and hurried away. 

“ Just a moment,” exclaimed Williams, caught 
unawares by this hasty retreat, but Norris pre¬ 
tended not to have heard. He was anxious to 
get away. He passed through the door in the 
wall, crossed the dark corridor to the hall and 
secured his hat and coat. Then he waited for 
Williams to catch up with him. He had remem¬ 
bered that the detective knew nothing of the 
hidden lock on the door. 

“ Better leave the door in the wall open, 
Williams. It locks itself and Fordney has the 
key. You don’t want to wall yourself in.” 

Before Williams could reply, Norris had 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


73 


opened the front door and had plunged once 
more into the storm. 

With the coming of night, the early evening 
gloom had given place to a muffled darkness. 
The wind was still driving the snow before it in 
a wild, mad dance along the streets. Norris 
wallowed through the deep drifts and headed 
for Bellevue Hospital. He must make sure that 
Fordney was receiving every attention and con¬ 
sideration. 

As he struggled forward from street lamp to 
street lamp, where pools of silver served as 
beacons in the dark, Norris’ thoughts, far from 
becoming clearer, began to whirl in bewildering 
spirals in his brain. The events occurring in 
that house of dread had become inextricably 
mixed so that he could no longer reason coher¬ 
ently concerning them. 

He seemed to hear the name “ Granya ” and 
to feel the radiant presence of the girl beside 
him in the dark. Yet when he paused to listen, 
he could hear nothing but the wailing wind; see 
nothing but the falling snow. 

When he reached Bellevue a white-jacketed 
orderly directed him to the Emergency Hospital. 
Here he was forced to wait until word of his 
presence could be sent to the ward. In answer 
to the summons, Doctor Jamieson, the head 


74 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


physician, a tall, handsome man with piercing 
black eyes and full white beard, appeared in the 
bare and barren hall followed by Doctor More¬ 
house. 

The former gave Norris the information that 
he wanted. “ The man is still unconscious, Mr. 
Norris. He has received a severe shock to his 
system. At the moment it is quite out of the 
question for you to see him.” 

Norris readily concurred. “ My purpose in 
coming over was not so much to see Fordney as 
to find out whether he will live.” 

Doctor Jamieson stroked his beard thought¬ 
fully with a firm hand. “ That is something that 
it is impossible to predict. He is old and may 
succumb from the shock to his system. On the 
other hand, if his heart proves strong enough to 
stand the strain, he may pull through. I have 
seen worse cases come through all right.” 

“ Whatever the outcome,” returned Norris 
earnestly, “ don’t spare any expense, Doctor. 
I’ll stand sponsor for the man.” 

Doctor Jamieson smiled in a peculiar way. 
“ The police have given orders that he is to live 
if human ingenuity can bring such a course to 
pass,” he said simply. 

Norris flashed a suspicious glance at More¬ 
house who was listening gravely to the dialogue. 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


75 


“You think Fordney guilty, then?” he asked 
pointedly. 

Morehouse evaded the question. “ I am act¬ 
ing under instructions from Headquarters,” he 
returned unruffled. “ Which way are you head¬ 
ing, Mr. Norris?” 

Norris was dissatisfied, but he could not stand 
and argue the matter in the corridor of the 
Emergency Hospital. “ Over to Broadway and 
the nearest subway entrance,” he replied. “ Are 
you going my way?” 

“ Yes. If you don’t mind, I’ll give myself the 
pleasure of your company. Did you ever see 
such beastly weather?” 

The two men left the hospital and forged their 
way through the storm-swept, deserted streets 
to Twenty-third. Then they turned westward 
toward Broadway. Presently Norris broke the 
silence that entombed them under a white pall 
of steadily falling snow. 

“ Doctor, is there a chance for Fordney?” he 
inquired. “ You were present at the exami¬ 
nation. Jamieson was too cautious to be exactly 
satisfactory.” 

“ Yes, in my opinion a decided chance. The 
fact that he wasn’t killed outright is a good sign. 
I’ll look in on him again tomorrow. If anything 
develops, I’ll let you know.” 


76 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Thank you. Is he likely to be arrested if 
he pulls through ?” 

“ I can’t say. Williams is no fool and he is 
not given to committing rash acts, whatever he 
may think privately. He’ll collect his evidence 
first.” 

“ That’s some consolation. I should hate to 
see the old fellow lodged in jail after his years of 
faithful service,” replied Norris with a troubled 
smile. 

When they finally reached the subway, they 
boarded a local for Union Square where Norris 
changed for an uptown express. Now that he 
was alone and was being carried farther and 
farther from the scene of the crime, he tried 
calmly to review the murder of his uncle. 

What were the clues that the case presented? 
The skewer-like dagger with its queer markings 
on the ring handle might have belonged to his 
uncle and have been picked up on the spot. 
Therefore the murder might have been one of 
impulse. Yet the presence of the paper with its 
significant quotation pointed quite as clearly to 
a premeditated crime. 

The gravest feature of the problem was the 
girl. It was quite possible that she was his 
uncle’s wife, that she had discovered the crime, 
and had fled in terror. On the other hand, 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


77 


Fordney had intimated that Jonas Fielding had 
been living alone. The thought of Fordney 
brought to mind the man’s condition. Did Ford¬ 
ney know the secret of Jonas Fielding’s life and 
was the chance of learning the truth hanging 
upon the slender thread of Fordney’s recovery? 

When the young chemist alighted at Cathe¬ 
dral, he was no nearer to an answer to any of 
his questions; so he deliberately focused his 
thoughts upon his home a block away. The 
house would be warm and friendly and peace¬ 
ful. There would be no ugly spectres to raise 
their heads at his approach; no malignant 
presence to stalk before him as in Gramercy 
Park. 

The door was opened by the solemn-faced 
butler. He accepted Norris’ coat and hat with 
the remark in his colorless voice, “ Mrs. Norris 
wants to see you at once, sir.” 

“ What’s wrong, Clive?” 

“ Nothing at all, sir. Mrs. Norris is in the 
drawing-room.” 

Norris looked after the departing butler with 
raised brows, then he turned and crossed the 
hall. At the drawing-room door he paused. 
The sound of voices — a man’s rich tones ming¬ 
ling with his mother’s clear laughter. 

Company! The idea was irksome. He was 


78 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


in no mood to entertain tonight, particularly in 
the face of the disagreeable news which he must 
break to his mother. With a jerk he pushed 
aside the heavy plush portieres and entered 
the long, artistic room. 

The burning logs in the big fireplace supplied 
the only illumination and cast their flickering 
light upon his mother’s stately, white-crowned 
head and over the slender figure of a young man 
who leaned one arm against the walnut mantel as 
he gazed into the bright flames. 

At first Norris could make nothing of the 
stranger’s half-shadowed face, then the man 
shifted his position impatiently and the chemist 
caught a glimpse of a resolute chin, irregular 
features and brilliant black eyes in a lean, 
bronzed face. Like a flash-back on the silver 
screen there came to mind a wild night at Ver¬ 
dun, a dug-out in a front line trench and those 
same eyes shining with excitement at the 
thought of the danger to be run. With a smile 
that cleared his face like magic he crossed the 
room in three strides with outstretched hand. 

“Graydon McKelvie, by all that’s miraculous! 
I’m mighty glad to see you again, old chap.” 
Norris turned to his mother whose bright brown 
eyes were sparkling and whose cheeks were 
tinged with a faint color. “ Look out, Mother. 


A FRIEND IN NEED 


79 


I see that Mac’s been up to his old tricks. Be¬ 
ware of him when he pays compliments. He 
doesn’t mean a word of it. He’s a misogynist.” 

“ I don’t believe it,” answered Mrs. Norris 
calmly. “ Besides, he hasn’t been paying me 
compliments-” 

She was interrupted by a commotion in the 
hall and the sudden appearance of Clive, his 
dignity considerably impaired. 

“ There’s an officer here with a message for 
you, Mr. Norris, sir,” remarked the butler. 

Norris’ quick change of expression was not 
lost on Graydon McKelvie. “ Anything I can 
do for you, Phil?” he asked, in the deep, melo¬ 
dious tones that Norris thought were his greatest 
charm. 

The chemist motioned his friend into the hall. 
“ Uncle Jonas has been murdered. I’ll tell you 
about it afterward when I’ve broken the news 
to Mother.” He addressed the policeman. 
“ What is it — oh, it’s you, Gordon. What’s 
wrong now?” 

“ Do you remember going to the drug store 
near Gramercy Park to call up Headquarters, 
sir?” inquired the burly policeman. 

“ Yes.” 

“ You dropped your wallet, sir, if you recall. 
The druggist found this watch on the floor near 



80 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


where you had been standing and he thought it 
might be yours. He gave it to me and told me 
what you looked like. I recognized the descrip¬ 
tion and took a chance on its being yours.” 

He took from his pocket an old-fashioned 
watch in a heavy gold hunting-case. Norris 
accepted the time-piece in silence. The watch 
was not his, but he faintly remembered that his 
uncle had carried one of a similar size and make. 
He snapped open the back in the hope of finding 
a means of identifying the article. Then he 
stood and stared dumbly like a man bereft of his 
wits. 

Engraved in the cover were the initials 
J. T. F. and coiled around the rim was a tiny 
curl of auburn hair! 


CHAPTER IX 
New Evidence 

McKelvie studied Norris’ face gravely for a 
moment or two. “ What is it, Phil?” he queried 
again. “ Something connected with the mur¬ 
der?” 

Norris held out the watch. “ I’d swear this 
was Uncle Jonas’ watch — it has his initials in¬ 
side — but how it came to be in the drug store 
is more than I can fathom.” 

Instead of examining the watch, McKelvie 
turned to the policeman. “ Thank you, Gor¬ 
don,” he said, slipping a bill into the other’s 
hand. “ If any one makes inquiries just forget 
that you were here.” 

“ Very good, sir.” Gordon departed with a 
knowing wink and smile. 

Norris gazed at his friend in dazed silence. 
“ I didn’t know you were acquainted with Gor¬ 
don,” he remarked presently. 

McKelvie smiled. “ I know most of the boys 
at Headquarters and they all know me,” he 
answered quietly. 

Norris passed a hand across his eyes once or 
81 


82 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


twice and tried to collect his scattered senses. 
The sight of that curl of auburn hair had thrown 
his mind once more into a ferment. Gradually 
he recalled that Graydon McKelvie had had 
some connection with the secret service during 
the war; that those keen black eyes had an 
uncanny ability to read one’s mind, and that 
the clear brain behind that broad forehead could 
be trusted to work its way through the most 
complex and intricate of problems. The young 
chemist sighed with relief as he realized that 
fate had brought to his aid the one man who 
could best help him in his dilemma. 

He was about to pour forth the story of the 
evening’s strange events when Mrs. Norris 
joined them, asking what was amiss. Norris’ 
gray eyes flashed a warning to McKelvie. 

“ I want to break it to her gradually,” mur¬ 
mured the chemist. “ After all the man was her 
brother.” He turned to his mother who was 
watching him rather anxiously. “ I think I’ve 
kept dinner waiting long enough. If you’ll give 
me a few moments to dress, I’ll join you in the 
dining-room.” 

Mrs. Norris waited until her son had mounted 
to his room, then she led McKelvie back to the 
drawing-room. “ Tell me,” she said. “ What 
did that policeman want of Phil?” 


NEW EVIDENCE 


83 


McKelvie’s eyes were on the dancing flames. 

“ He came with a message. Mrs. Norris, Phil 
has promised to tell us his troubles after dinner. 
Until then I am bound to say no more.” He 
sighed as he spoke. He would rather have lis¬ 
tened to Norris’ story than feasted on the most 
sumptuous banquet known to man. 

Fifteen minutes later Mrs. Norris ushered her 
son and her guest into a stately Jacobean dining¬ 
room where Clive presided in dignified state. 
Norris studiously avoided all mention of the 
topic uppermost in his mind and McKelvie fol- v 
lowed his lead. They revived old memories and 
relived scenes on the Western battle front until 
the dessert was served. It was then that for the 
first time Mrs. Norris interrupted the flow of 
reminiscences. 

“ Where do you suppose I discovered Mr. 
McKelvie, Phil?” she asked. “You haven’t 
shown the least curiosity about the matter and 
you know perfectly well that we had never met 
before.” 

McKelvie frowned and shook his head at her 
but she only laughed and turned her bright eyes 
on her son. 

“ I’m sure I don’t know, Mother,” the chemist 
made answer to her query as he absently toyed 
with his spoon. Never once during the course 


84 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


of the meal, although he had done his share of 
talking, had his thoughts really been free from 
the burden of the mystery into which he had 
stumbled. But it was hot the murder that 
troubled him. His mind was centered on the 
unknown girl. He saw her constantly before 
him. Her smile, as he had seen it in the por¬ 
trait, bewitched him; her fear-haunted eyes 
which had pleaded with him from the telephone- 
booth, stirred him profoundly and made him 
want to rush forth to her protection like a 
knight-errant of old. But he was sorely handi¬ 
capped, for he did not know who she was nor 
where to find her. 

Suddenly he became conscious of the silence 
that had fallen over the table like an invisible 
mantle. He roused himself with an effort. “ Go 
ahead, Mother. Of course I’m anxious to know 
how you corralled Mac and inveigled him into 
coming here. 7 ’ 

“ I found him at the Children’s Hospital yes¬ 
terday. He and I were there on the same 
errand — to select a committee to start the cam¬ 
paign for the Children’s Christmas Fund. We 
grew confidential and when I discovered that he 
had known you during the war, I insisted on his 
coming to dinner tonight.” 

“ I certainly didn’t expect to be given away 


NEW EVIDENCE 


85 


like this,” broke in McKelvie. “ I thought you 
were my friend, Mrs. Norris.” 

“ What do you mean?” she asked quickly. 

“ Don’t you know that he poses as the world’s 
greatest cynic, Mother,” answered Norris. He 
glanced swiftly at McKelvie and the latter 
nodded. “ We’ll take coffee in the drawing¬ 
room, Clive.” 

In the hall Norris drew his mother into the 
library. Not caring to intrude, McKelvie en¬ 
tered the drawing-room alone and took up a 
position beside the hearth. 

Although he had been employed in more than 
one secret mission during the war, McKelvie was 
in no sense a government agent. By profession 
he was a civil engineer; but a decided flair for 
criminal investigation and an independent in¬ 
come had led him to adopt the latter vocation 
as a hobby. Nothing pleased him quite so much 
as a chance to pit his brains against a clever 
criminal whose eventual capture meant not only 
a battle of wits but a desperate and dangerous 
game as well. 

Not any older than Norris in the matter of 
years, McKelvie was both maturer and wiser, 
with a wisdom gleaned from the highways and 
byways of the world, for he had travelled con¬ 
siderably and he had seen much that was ignoble 


86 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


and sordid which might account for the cynical 
attitude which he adopted toward life. 

He drummed impatiently upon the mantel as 
he waited. It was more than a month since he 
had followed a case and his keen brain was eager 
for a new problem with which to grapple. 

When, presently, Mrs. Norris came in with 
her son, McKelvie noticed particularly that the 
news of her brother’s death had not grieved her 
to any great extent. She was as calmly poised 
as though the murder concerned a stranger whose 
tragic end might momentarily shock but could 
not disturb the even tenor of her life. 

“ Mother is as anxious to hear the details as 
you could be, Mac,” remarked Norris, dropping 
down on the wide divan beside her. “ Uncle 
Jonas has been little more than a name to her 
for so long that she had almost forgotten the 
relationship between them.” 

McKelvie nodded. “ I’m all attention.” He 
moved further into the shadows where he could 
watch the play of the firelight on Norris’ fine 
features. 

Anxious to lay his cards on the table for his 
friend’s benefit, Norris began with Fordney’s 
visit to the office. In quick succession he took 
his hearers through the startling events he had 
witnessed — his uncle’s request, the descent to 


NEW EVIDENCE 


87 


the vault, the swearing of the oath, his attempt 
to open the wooden box, and the unexpected 
attack upon himself. 

“ The light was extinguished, you say?” in¬ 
quired McKelvie. 

“ Yes. That was what made me turn around.” 

“ How far was the box from the light?” 

“ Quite a distance.” 

“ Go on with your story.” 

Norris took up the interrupted thread of his 
narrative. He told of summoning Gordon, of 
the discovery of the blood on the ferule, of going 
out to telephone headquarters. After a momen¬ 
tary hesitation he spoke of dropping his wallet 
and of the identity of the man who had returned 
it to him. He related how on his return Gordon 
had shown him that Jonas Fielding himself had 
attacked his nephew; he spoke of the advent of 
Williams, of the accident to Fordney, and of the 
discovery that the portrait had been mutilated. 
He ended by giving Williams’ theory that the 
portrait was that of Jonas Fielding’s wife, and 
then he refuted it emphatically. 

“ And what about the girl herself?” inquired 
McKelvie calmly. 

Norris glanced sharply at his friend. “ What 
girl? I mentioned no girl.” 

McKelvie chuckled softly. “ You didn’t have 


88 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


to, Phil. Your vehemence has betrayed you. 
Why should you care whether the portrait was 
that of your uncle’s wife or not unless you had 
either seen or met the original?” 

After a pause Norris admitted frankly, “ You 
are right. I did see her.” He explained the 
circumstances. “ I can’t connect her with the 
crime, Mac. That is why I did not mention 
her.” 

“ It is never good policy to eliminate any one 
too early in the game,” responded McKelvie 
seriously. “ That girl must have had a potent 
reason for venturing out in today’s storm alone.” 

Norris moved impatiently. “ Perhaps. A per¬ 
sonal reason unconnected with this crime. She 
couldn’t have had anything to do with it. She 
is the loveliest creature I ever saw.” 

Mrs. Norris looked at her son apprehensively. 
Heretofore his profession had absorbed all his 
energy and time and he had taken no active 
interest in women. He had his mother to care 
for him and he was indifferent to the rest. Was 
it possible that this girl had managed to pierce 
his armor of reserve? 

Norris intercepted his mother’s glance and 
smiled reassuringly. He did not know that the 
magic alchemy of love was already at work 
within his veins. “ I’m all right, Mother. If 


NEW EVIDENCE 


89 


you had seen her, you would feel exactly as I do 
about her.” 

McKelvie interrupted. “ We’ve got to get 
back to first causes in order to solve this problem. 
Let’s reason the thing out calmly and sanely. 
Let me ask you a few questions. I want a 
definite picture in mind.” 

“ Go ahead. If I don’t get this mystery 
straightened out somehow, I’ll go mad myself 
with thinking about it.” 

McKelvie took out his pocket note-book. 
“ This and my automatic are two things that I 
always carry with me,” he explained with a 
quick smile. “ First of all, let’s put down the 
questions that need to be answered in order to 
arrive at a solution of the murder. Then we’ll 
see if we can find the correct answers.” 

He wrote rapidly for several moments, and 
then prepared to read the result of his cogita¬ 
tions. “ Suppose you answer the questions to 
the best of your ability as I ask them, then we 
can see where we stand at the end of the cate¬ 
chism,” he suggested. “ One, was Jonas Field¬ 
ing as he called himself, sane?” 

Norris pondered, his brows a level crease 
above the serious eyes. “ Yes,” he answered at 
length. “ I think he was. He was cunning and 
crafty and miserly, but he was sane. There were 


90 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


moments when I deemed him mad; but, in the 
light of after events, particularly his murder, his 
words and actions were pregnant with meaning. 
Yes, I am fully convinced that he was sane.” 

“Very good. Question two, what was his 
reason for living as he did, secreted in the back 
part of an empty house and protected by a sys¬ 
tem of signals of his own devising?” 

“ I have no idea of the true reason. He was 
afraid of some enemy, but why, or what he had 
done to incur that enmity, I do not know.” 

“ Do you recall anything about him that might 
account either for his fear or his mode of life 
these last five years?” McKelvie directed the 
question at Mrs. Norris who was was listening 
with a grave face. 

“ No — not five years ago. But wait,” with 
a sudden brightening of the lively eyes, “ I do 
remember dimly something — a scandal or a 
quarrel or some such thing — in which Jonas’ 
name came up. It was in a Parisian paper — 
but it was — um — ten years ago or more,” she 
ended, doubtful of the value of her evidence. 

“ Can’t you recall the exact circumstances?” 
asked McKelvie eagerly. 

She drew her brows together as though the 
physical act might induce the desired cerebra¬ 
tion. “ No, I can’t recall. I didn’t read the 


NEW EVIDENCE 


91 


account of the affair at the time. I only remem¬ 
ber that my husband was very angry, saying that 
Jonas had been up to his old tricks again. When 
I asked what the trouble was, my husband re¬ 
torted that it was over and done and the least 
said the soonest mended. He was always most 
anxious to keep from me all knowledge of Jonas’ 
escapades and I was quite willing to remain in 
ignorance. I recall that Mr. Norris burned the 
paper.” 

“ You are sure it was a Parisian paper?” 

“ Yes, I’m absolutely certain of that fact. I 
was reading a very thrilling serial at the time, 
being decidedly more frivolous than I am now, 
and so I was quite annoyed that my husband 
should have deprived me of one of the install¬ 
ments by burning the paper.” Mrs. Norris smiled 
whimsically at the forgotten memory. “ When 
I say he burned the paper, I don’t mean of 
course the whole thing, just the sheet that con¬ 
tained the scandal about Jonas, but my story 
happened to be on the other side. Funny that I 
should recall a trivial thing like that when I 
haven’t thought of it in years.” 

“ No, not at all strange. The incident was 
impressed on your mind because it affected you 
personally. That impression was there in your 
brain cells, lying dormant until my remark 


92 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


touched a reminiscent chord. The mind is cer¬ 
tainly a wonderful and mysterious thing.” Mc- 
Kelvie returned to his note-book. “ Question 
two will have to remain blank until I can get 
information from the Paris police. Three, did 
Jonas Fielding ever set foot outside his house 
during the five years of occupancy?” 

Norris hesitated. “ I gathered the impres¬ 
sion that he never left the house, probably from 
something that Uncle Jonas said to me,” he 
replied. “ That is as positive as I dare be.” 

McKelvie smiled at the other’s cautious tone. 
“ In that case, Fordney must have been the go- 
between, which brings us to question four. What 
is Fordney’s status in the affair? Is he impli¬ 
cated in the murder?” 

“ No, that I would take my oath on. He was 
faithful to my uncle, but I am sure that he was 
not mixed up in any of my uncle’s ventures.” 

“ Question five. How did the murderer get in 
and out of the house, then, if we eliminate Ford¬ 
ney as an accomplice?” 

Norris looked rueful. “ I know how he got 
out. When I left to summon Gordon, I foolishly 
omitted to close the doors, thinking only of 
re-obtaining access to the vault. There is no 
reason why the criminal could not have walked 
out the front door as readily as I did. As to 


NEW EVIDENCE 


93 


how he got in, that is another matter. I don’t 
know.” 

“ If Fordney did not let him in and he could 
not pass the door in the wall without detection, 
he must have used another entrance which has 
not been mentioned so far. I’ll look into that 
myself when I examine the premises. Six, to 
whom does the scarf pin belong that was used to 
pin the paper?” 

As no one was prepared to answer that ques¬ 
tion, McKelvie continued, “ I may as well group 
the rest of my queries. I don’t think we shall 
find answers to them at this moment. Why was 
the vault light put out and by whom? Why 
was the mummy case removed from its wooden 
box? What is the relation of this girl you saw 
to Jonas Fielding since he owns her portrait? 
Why is she wearing a ring that matches the head 
of the scarf pin?” 

As McKelvie pocketed his note-book, Norris 
remarked, “You have forgotten something. 
Why did my uncle attack me?” 

“ I hadn’t forgotten, but I know the answer 
and saw no reason for wasting time discussing 
it,” replied McKelvie quietly. “ If he was near 
enough to touch you when you turned around, 
he was too far away to extinguish the light him¬ 
self. What is the reasonable deduction under 


94 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


the circumstances? Your uncle thought that 
some enemy had entered the vault and in his 
terror he grabbed you. You mistook him for an 
antagonist and began to struggle, whereupon he, 
too, assumed that he had taken hold of the wrong 
person. You see, you were each of you fighting 
the other under the impression that you were 
being attacked.” 

Norris demurred. “ Was my uncle strong 
enough to knock me out?” 

“ According to your own version of the affair, 
he didn’t. He caught you on the point of the 
jaw. The blow was sufficient to send you back¬ 
wards. Then you tripped and fell, striking your 
head against the wooden box. It was that blow 
which was responsible for rendering you uncon¬ 
scious.” 

“ I suppose you are right. At any rate we have 
the evidence of the ferule to show that it was my 
uncle whom I struck. The murderer must have 
been a cool hand to chance his crime with an¬ 
other person present at the time.” 

“ I doubt whether you would have been in a 
position to witness the murder, Phil,” retorted 
McKelvie dryly. “ Perhaps you were luckier 
than you realize when your uncle knocked you 
down.” With a keen glance at the chemist’s 
sensitive face, he added, “ Do you think you 


NEW EVIDENCE 


95 


could stand more excitement, Phil? I’d like to 
examine your uncle’s house while the trail is 
hot. No knowing what Williams may destroy 
or obliterate without realizing the damage he 
is doing.” 

“ I don’t see why headquarters sets such store 
by him,” grumbled Norris. “ In my opinion he’s 
not much of a detective.” 

McKelvie shook his dark head with an 
amused smile. “ You don’t do him justice, Phil, 
even if he did get on your nerves. The man has 
only one fault. He builds his case and then runs 
around until he finds sufficient facts to support 
it. He’s too cautious to arrest without facts, but 
he throws away trifles that may prove to be the 
real crux of the whole affair. The correct way is 
to secure all the clues first and from them build 
a theory that will include them all, no matter 
how impossible that theory may seem.” 

Norris exchanged glances with his mother at 
the unconscious egotism of McKelvie’s reply, but 
he only said, “ Does Williams ever abandon one 
theory for another or does he always stick to 
the same one whatever the outcome?” 

McKelvie’s keen sight had not missed the by¬ 
play even though he had apparently been gaz¬ 
ing at the fire. There was an answering twinkle 
in his brilliant black eyes as he replied in all 


96 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


seriousness, “ Oh, yes, he often veers around 
when he finds the wind blowing from the oppo¬ 
site direction. But we can discuss Williams in 
the Subway, if you care to come with me.” 

Norris was divided between two desires. He 
looked at his mother. “ I hate to leave you 
alone-” he began. 

Mrs. Norris laughed. “ Go, if you want to. 
I don’t mind in the least,” she replied. “ In fact 
I rather envy you. If I were a man I should 
insist on following where Mr. McKelvie will 
lead. I know that he is going to solve this 
mystery for us in a very short time.” 

McKelvie met the brown eyes with a whimsi¬ 
cal smile and a reproving shake of the head. 
“ Phil called me a flatterer a while ago,” he said. 
“ I think the term could be applied more appro¬ 
priately to you, Mrs. Norris. Please don’t over¬ 
rate my ability because, after all, I am only 
human and of all God’s creatures, human beings 
are the most fallible, you know.” 



CHAPTER X 
The Vault Entrance 

“ Do you know, Mac,” Norris remarked as 
they left the house, “ the only interest I have 
in this affair concerns that unknown girl. If you 
could have seen her as I did! I can’t get it out 
of my mind that she is connected with the 
murder in some way and yet I hate to acknowl¬ 
edge the fact.” 

McKelvie drew his head into his collar, turtle- 
wise. “ Granya is an unusual name. It ought 
not to be so difficult to identify her,” he said, 
his voice issuing in muffled accents. “ This is 
a chilly street you live on.” 

The wind was still howling dismally but the 
snow was falling less thickly as the two men 
crossed Morningside Heights and made for the 
Subway. On the ride to Twenty-third, both 
were unusually quiet. McKelvie was piecing 
together in his mind the parts of the puzzle in 
his possession and Norris was visioning again 
the radiant beauty of the girl. Who was she? 
If he could find an answer to that query, he 
would be content. 


97 


98 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


When they reached Gramercy Park West, 
they pounded on the grilled entrance and pres¬ 
ently Freeman opened to them. 

“ Good evening, Freeman. May we come 
in?” inquired McKelvie. 

“ Sure, Mr. McKelvie. I wouldn’t keep a 
dog out on such a night,” responded the man 
with a slight smile. 

“ I’m overwhelmed by the compliment,” 
laughed McKelvie, stepping into the musty hall. 
“ The police are such frank creatures.” 

Norris flashed McKelvie a quizzical glance 
behind Freeman’s back as the latter closed the 
heavy front door. 

“ Is Sergeant Williams around or is he through 
collecting clues?” continued McKelvie, casting a 
penetrating look about the hall which was lighted 
by a single gas jet. 

“ The Sergeant has gone for his dinner,” 
replied Freeman, whose wits were not sufficiently 
nimble to detect the nuance of sarcasm in Mc- 
Kelvie’s last query. “ I have orders to let no 
one into the vault.” 

McKelvie ignored the very obvious intimation 
that this dictum was directed against himself. 
He called Norris’ attention to the innumerable 
tracks on the dusty floor. 

“ Confound it all,” he said, but his tone was 


THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


99 


more whimsical than exasperated, “ what 
thoughtless creatures human beings are. Here,” 
he pointed dramatically to the floor, “ is a per¬ 
fectly good page ruined by the trampling of use¬ 
less feet. If the murderer left by the front door, 
as you hinted, Phil, he must have marked his 
imprint somewhere along this hall. But what a 
hopeless task to distinguish even a line of his 
boot soles when you and Fordney and Williams 
and the rest of the police have done your utmost 
to obliterate his tracks.” 

Norris answered in kind, “ Even you, I grant, 
would have overlooked such a trifle in the pres¬ 
sure of events.” 

McKelvie traversed the branching corridor 
and paused to examine the door in the wall. “ I 
never permit events to disturb my equanimity,” 
he remarked lightly, for he was in a particularly 
pleasant mood. u Kindly remember, Phil, that 
my brains are slightly superior to those of the 
police.” 

“ I’m banking on that fact,” returned Norris, 
smiling, “ or I should not have been so glad to 
see you tonight. But, never mind that door. I 
want to show you the things that really count.” 

“ One step at a time, Phil. A game of this 
sort demands infinite patience, if one expects 
to unravel the tangled skein, if you will pardon 


100 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


the change of metaphor. I’d like to learn for 
myself just how impregnable your uncle’s strong¬ 
hold was.” 

He located the hidden lock and inserted an 
odd-looking key. After testing the mechanism, 
he closed the door which locked itself. 

“ Do you notice how solid this wall is when 
the door is closed?” McKelvie remarked. 
“ There’s not a break to be discovered. No one 
would suspect that there was a passage back of 
this wall.” He inserted his pass key and flung 
open the door. As he did so an alarm rang 
loudly through the old house. 

The unexpected sound startled them both. 
Norris explained, “ I forgot that Fordney had 
told me of this device. You see how well Uncle 
Jonas was protected.” 

“ Yes, trebly so and yet — some one got him 
in the end,” responded McKelvie dryly. 

Freeman came hurrying toward them. “ What 
was that bell, Mr. McKelvie?” 

“ Just a burglar alarm, Freeman. I touched it 
off accidentally. I’m ready for the vault, now, 
Phil.” 

Norris led the way down the lighted corridor, 
but when he reached the portrait he paused 
before it. 

“ There she is, Mac, what is left of her,” he said. 


THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


101 


McKelvie let his eyes roam over the ornate 
frame with its gilded scrolls and carved acanthus 
leaves, and studied minutely the graceful figure 
and the mutilated face. 

“ An old-fashioned frame,” was his comment. 
“ The style of some twenty years ago.” 

“ She can hardly be that old,” objected 
Norris. 

“ That’s not incongruous. Your uncle might 
have had the frame and utilized it to preserve 
the portrait.” McKelvie swung the heavy frame 
around and examined the back. “ Looks as 
though another name had been erased. It 
begins with what looks like an ‘ H.’ ” 

Norris nodded gloomily. He could not recon¬ 
cile the relations between his uncle and the girl 
of the picture and he did not want to think too 
closely about the matter. Hastily, as if move¬ 
ment could shut out unpleasant recollections, 
he opened the massive steel portal and began to 
descend the vault steps, for the hundredth time 
that evening as it seemed to him. 

McKelvie called to Freeman. “ Light up, will 
you please?” he said. “ I have no fancy for 
breaking my neck on these dark steps.” 

With a shake of the head, the man from the 
Central Office complied, going ahead with his 
flash; for Norris had paused midway of the 


102 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


flight as he recalled that the sixth step had been 
torn up. 

“ The Sergeant won’t like it, Mr. McKelvie,” 
grumbled Freeman as he applied a match to the 
gas jet. 

“ I’ll exonerate you, Freeman. Leave the 
Sergeant to me.” McKelvie stopped to examine 
the interior of the dismantled step, then he 
scanned the vault with keen, searching eyes. 

Norris, wondering what his friend was looking 
for, also glanced about; but he could make noth¬ 
ing of the stone room which was undisturbed 
except in one respect. The body of Jonas Field¬ 
ing had been removed for the post-mortem ex¬ 
amination. 

“Too bad Williams was in such a hurry to 
dispose of your uncle,” McKelvie remarked as 
he followed Norris across the stone floor. “ I 
was hoping for a chance to examine the body.” 
He bent over the painted wooden box which 
Williams had opened and studied the lock with 
great care, both inside and out. It was a heavy 
lock such as might have been used on a door and 
it was let into the two-inch thickness of the 
box. 

“ Strange,” he muttered presently. 

“ What?” inquired Norris quickly. 

“ This lock. It can be opened from the inside 


THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


103 


as well as from the outside. I wonder- 

There should have been a mummy case in here? ,, 

“ So my uncle said.” 

“ Hum. He’d probably be about the same 
weight,” commented McKelvie. 

“Who would? Uncle Jonas?” demanded 
Norris with interest. 

McKelvie smiled enigmatically. “ I suppose 
that Williams has all the worthwhile evidence,” 
was all he said. 

Norris nodded ruefully. “ I suppose so. He 
has the material clues that were found in the 
vault. I see he has appropriated the bronze 
ferule as well.” McKelvie was no longer listen¬ 
ing. He was busy sounding the walls. Pres¬ 
ently, without a word of explanation, he dashed 
up the steps and disappeared along the passage. 
He had hardly gone before he was back again 
at the door of the vault. 

“ I’m going outside to examine those walls, 
Phil. When I knock, determine exactly where 
the sound comes from. Let me have your flash, 
please, Freeman.” 

Freeman handed over his pocket electric torch 
without a murmur, although his expression said 
quite plainly that he did not approve and would 
gladly welcome McKelvie’s departure before the 
advent of Williams. McKelvie, however, cared 



104 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


nothing for Freeman’s opinions. He went 
blithely about his self-imposed task and pres¬ 
ently Norris heard him pounding on the north 
wall. 

The chemist answered the signal and after a 
short interval McKelvie rejoined him in the 
vault. Norris located the portion of the wall 
from which the pounding had seemed to come, 
and McKelvie set to work to examine the 
masonry. After several moments’ scrutiny he 
inserted his pass key and a stone door swung 
inwards on silent hinges. 

McKelvie smiled, triumph in his eyes. “ Be¬ 
hold the result of deduction,” he said. “ I knew 
there was an entrance here even before we 
entered the house.” 

“ Because the criminal got into the vault with¬ 
out passing the door upstairs?” hazarded Norris. 

“ No. We do not know that he came in this 
way. Besides there is no key hole on the out¬ 
side, so that this door can only be opened from 
the vault. I argued this entrance from the 
presence of this wooden box,” and he laid his 
hand on the painted receptacle that Jonas Field¬ 
ing had purchased the day before. 

“ I don’t quite see-” 

“ You told me that your uncle never left this 
house; that no one but Fordney ever entered 



THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


105 


this back part. Two such elderly men as your 
uncle and his servant could not have carried that 
box down here. Therefore there must have been 
a means of ingress directly connected with the 
vault which would obviate the use of stairs.” 

Norris gazed down at the wooden box 
thoughtfully. Then he stooped and lifted one 
end. “ Why, it’s comparatively light, Mac. No 
heavier than a trunk. Fordney and my uncle 
might have managed it between them, even 
down those stairs under the pressure of necessity. 
Uncle Jonas wasn’t as weak as he looked.” 

McKelvie laughed indulgently. “ Are you 
trying to find flaws in my reasoning, Phil? Re¬ 
member that this box was supposed to contain 
a mummy case and that those cases are not 
usually light.” 

“ How is it that they didn’t discover, then, 
that the box was empty when they lifted it?” 
put in Norris quickly. 

“ Because the box wasn’t empty,” was the 
quiet retort. 

Norris stared at his friend in amazement. 

“But- No, you can’t mean-?” he 

exclaimed aghast. 

“I do, most decidedly. How else could he 
effect an entrance? Notice the air-holes bored 
on that end, too,” pointing them out. 




106 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ But the box was locked.” Norris could not 
bring himself to believe that the criminal had 
actually invaded Jonas Fielding’s stronghold in 
the very box which the latter had purchased as 
a means to evade his enemy. The diabolical 
irony of the situation appalled him. 

“ I pointed out the circumstance before that 
this box could be unlocked from the inside,” 
replied McKelvie. “ That means, of course, 
that the criminal had access to this receptacle 
before it was delivered to this address. From 
whom did you say your uncle bought the box?” 

“ Kastamuni.” 

McKelvie nodded and pulled up his coat col¬ 
lar. “ Let’s see where this entrance leads to, 
Phil.” 

Norris followed McKelvie through the aper¬ 
ture which opened upon a slight incline leading 
upward to the back yard. The wind, tearing 
madly through the gully between the high board 
enclosure of the yard, whipped the soft snow 
about their faces in whirling gusts and drove a 
sheet of paper squarely into McKelvie’s chest. 
Instinctively his hand closed over it and he 
stuffed it into his pocket. It might prove of 
value since it had evidently come from Fielding’s 
yard. 

Norris, shivering in the gale, could find no 


THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


107 


point to the expedition; but McKelvie consid¬ 
ered himself rewarded when he discovered that 
the fence at the back was down and that Field¬ 
ing’s yard was contiguous with another bare 
patch of ground which abutted on an empty 
house. This house, with its grimy windows and 
snow-covered, worn steps, he circled twice to 
make sure that he had missed nothing that might 
reasonably serve as a clue. 

“ Don’t you get the connection, Phil?” Mc¬ 
Kelvie remarked when they were back in the 
vault and he had closed the wall against the 
night and storm. 

“ No, I can’t say that I do.” Norris was 
engaged in brushing the snow from his clothes. 

“ The box was delivered at the Fourth Avenue 
house. Probably Kastamuni’s men were told 
to leave it in the back yard. After dark Ford- 
ney and your uncle could pull or push the box 
into this vault. The exertion would demand a 
decided physical effort, but it was not an im¬ 
possible feat for them to accomplish, particu¬ 
larly as they used rollers. That high board 
fence would prevent neighbors from realizing 
what was toward.” 

McKelvie had taken the sheet of paper from 
his pocket and carried it beneath the gas jet as 
he talked. He had barely glanced at the 


108 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


smudged writing when a shower of blows dis¬ 
turbed the mouldering stillness of the empty 
house. Reluctantly Freeman crept up the steps 
and vanished into the corridor. 

“ That’s Williams, I presume,” remarked Mc- 
Kelvie without enthusiasm, thrusting the paper 
back into his pocket. “ By the way, do you 
happen to recall the nature of the inscription on 
the dagger?” 

“ No, I don’t-” began Norris. McKelvie 

signalled silence. Williams was descending the 
steps. “ I wonder if I can induce him to show 
me the dagger?” whispered McKelvie. 

“ Why shouldn’t he?” returned Norris in the 
same guarded tones. 

“ Jealous of me. Afraid that I might dis¬ 
cover something that he had missed. He dis¬ 
likes me — intensely.” McKelvie approached 
the detective. “ Good evening, Sergeant,” he 
said affably. 

“ Good evening,” growled Williams, not over¬ 
pleased but unable, because of the other’s friend¬ 
ship for the Chief, to object openly to McKel- 
vie’s presence. “ It beats me how you get wind 
of these cases so quickly.” 

McKelvie chuckled. “ Fate, Sergeant. The 
goddess taking pity upon you. I am destined to 
save headquarters many a pitfall.” 



THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


109 


“ Oh, of course. I suppose you have solved 
the mystery already?” with an ironic tinge in 
the rumbling tones. 

“ No, I haven’t even begun to spin theories. 
So I am one lap behind you in the race, Ser¬ 
geant. The thing that bothers me most is the 
inscription on the dagger.” 

“ What inscription?” demanded Williams with 
instant suspicion of his rival’s honeyed tones. 

“What! Don’t you know that there are 
Egyptian characters engraved on the ring handle 
of that silver skewer? Dear me, Sergeant, you 
mustn’t overlook so valuable a clue.” 

Norris was amused at McKelvie’s solicitude, 
particularly as the marks on the dagger were too 
indistinct to have been recognized as hiero¬ 
glyphics. Williams, however, was too matter- 
of-fact to perceive that he was being gulled. He 
knew McKelvie’s reputation and he had no 
desire to pass up anything that to the private 
investigator seemed a possible clue. From his 
overcoat pocket he took a flat parcel, unwrapped 
it, and disclosed the weapon. 

McKelvie’s dark eyes grew eager but Wil¬ 
liams made no move to hand the dagger over. 
Instead he studied the handle with frowning 
care. 

“Humph,” he said presently in a dubious 


110 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


tone, “ if that’s an inscription my name’s not 
Williams. Those are just marks on the metal, 
mere scratches. Nothing to make a fuss about.” 
He began to re wrap the dagger. 

Noting the disappointment that crept like a 
shadow over those keen black eyes, Norris de¬ 
cided to come to his friend’s aid. “ They looked 
like characters to me,” he said bluntly. “ My 
uncle was an Egyptologist, Sergeant.” 

Williams turned his jaundiced eye on the 
chemist. “ How do you know so much about the 
weapon, Mr. Norris? It seems mighty queer 
that you should have been in the vault when 
the murder was committed. I haven’t forgotten 
that you struck your uncle once at any rate.” 

Swift as a darting swallow the thought flitted 
again across Norris’ brain, “ He’s bound to sus¬ 
pect me. The seed of suspicion is beginning to 
germinate.” 

It was McKelvie who answered tersely, 
“ Don’t get the absurd idea into your head that 
Mr. Norris is guilty, Williams. He has simply 
used his eyes to good advantage, as I have mine. 
Even from here I could tell that those marks 
were not entirely meaningless.” 

Williams gave McKelvie a startled look, and 
again examined the weapon. “ Can you read 
this Egyptian stuff?” he inquired abruptly. 


THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


111 


“ Fm not a walking compendium of knowl¬ 
edge, Sergeant. Unfortunately hieroglyphics 
remain a closed book to me. Some day I shall 
take time off to delve into the subject/’ replied 
McKelvie seriously. 

Williams placed the dagger in the eager hand 
of his rival and Norris read in the massive face 
a certain selfish satisfaction. It was as if the 
detective had said in so many words, “ I keep 
the weapon. A single look will appease without 
enlightening my rival.” 

With a pleased sigh McKelvie held the ring 
handle to the light and carefully turned it round 
and round. He took out his key ring and pro¬ 
duced a tiny magnifying glass which he applied 
to the dagger, continuing to turn the handle 
round and round. Norris watched his friend 
closely, puzzled by this maneuver. 

As he saw the eyes begin to sparkle he realized 
what McKelvie was up to. The latter was 
memorizing the marks upon the dagger. Even 
while Norris was marvelling at his friend’s in¬ 
genuity, McKelvie handed the weapon back to 
Williams with a non-committal face. 

“ Well?” demanded Williams aggressively, 
enfolding the dagger in its wrapper as carefully 
as though it were made of glass. “ What is the 
verdict? Am I a dub or not?” 


112 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ It never occurred to me to brand you in that 
manner, Williams,” returned McKelvie suavely. 
“ We are all dubs at times,” he added lightly 
with an ingenious smile. “ Even yours truly.” 

The scowl which had grown darker on the 
detective’s heavy brow relaxed. “ And the 
marks on the weapon?” 

“ May mean much or nothing. My advice 
would be to take the dagger to the Museum and 
secure an expert’s opinion on the subject.” 

Williams humphed as much as to imply that 
he knew his duty, but he wore an unmistakably 
complacent look. Norris could see that the 
detective was patting himself neatly on the back 
at his own astuteness, whereupon the young 
man winked brazenly at McKelvie who an¬ 
swered the challenge with a sudden, joyous grin. 

“ Phil,” he whispered, “ I want a look at the 
library — alone. Stay here with Williams. Tell 
him anything. Only keep him from following 
me.” 

Before Norris could expostulate McKelvie had 
gone. Williams started, turned swiftly to follow, 
but Norris intercepted him. “ Sergeant,” he 
said, “ I have news that will probably interest 
you.” 

“ What sort of news?” Williams spoke with 
one heavy boot on the bottom step. 


THE VAULT ENTRANCE 


113 


Norris saw that to hold the detective, he 
would have to startle the man. “ I know how 
the criminal entered this vault.” 

Williams laughed scornfully. “ That’s not 
news. I have known the answer to that problem 
from the start. Your uncle’s servant let the 
fellow in.” 

“ On the contrary, my uncle himself brought 
the criminal into his house,” responded Norris 
laconically. 

“What!” Williams forgot McKelvie and 
came hurtling back to Norris. “ Say that again.” 
Norris complied, repeating his assertion. 

“ You’re not — dreaming? I understood that 
your uncle barricaded himself here for five years. 
Was he likely to admit his enemy, Mr. Norris?” 
Williams waxed sarcastic. 

“ I’m quite sane, Sergeant. The truth of the 
matter is easily explained.” 

“ But we will postpone the explanation until 
we form a compact,” remarked McKelvie from 
the head of the steps. “ Show me the scarf pin 
and the paper which was fastened to the body, 
Williams, and I’ll tell you how the criminal 
forced his enemy to admit him.” 

Williams debated, anxious to learn what Mc¬ 
Kelvie could tell him, yet not so eager to show 
his own hand. Curiosity prevailing, he finally 


114 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


consented to the agreement, which proved of 
mutual satisfaction to both parties. 

Having learned all that could be gleaned 
from the scene of the crime, McKelvie suggested 
that they give Williams a free field. 

“ Don’t forget the inquest at one tomorrow, 
Mr. Norris,” Williams called after them. 

McKelvie smiled sardonically. “ The police 
always set such store by the inquest. I doubt 
if he learns one atom of evidence that will do 
him a bit of good.” 

Norris was not interested. He had suddenly 
discovered that he was tired and that it really 
didn’t matter who killed his uncle as long as the 
girl of the portrait was not implicated in the 
affair. 

“ What now, Mac?” he asked wearily. 

“ Bed, I should say. There is really nothing 
more to do until I can question the dealer about 
the mummy case. Will you care to come with 
me, or shall I tackle him alone?” 

“ I’m coming with you. I’ve got to know the 
answers to all those questions you propounded. 
I’m in too deeply to let go now.” 

“ Meet me at Kastamuni’s at nine tomorrow, 
then,” answered McKelvie. “ Good night, Phil. 
Better try to get some sleep. You look all in, 
old chap.” 


CHAPTER XI 
The Dealer in Antiques 

Norris, fatigued by the strain of the evening’s 
adventures, had no difficulty in getting to sleep 
that night. But it was only his body that rested. 
Fantastic dreams pursued him, in which he 
alternately loved and hated the unknown girl; 
sometimes discovering that it was she who had 
wielded the dagger; oftener killing his uncle 
himself in a fit of jealous rage. And always, no 
matter what the dream, he stealthily embalmed 
his uncle and sealed the body secretly in the 
vault. 

At breakfast the next morning, Mrs. Norris, 
whose interest in the mystery was as keen as 
that of her son, demanded to know what con¬ 
clusions had been reached. 

“ Nothing so far, Mother,” responded Norris. 
“ If only we knew what enemies Uncle Jonas 
had, we might be able to solve the mystery of 
his death. With Fordney out of the running, we 
shall have to delve into his past unaided. You 
don’t happen to know of anything that would 
help us?” 


115 


116 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ No, I am afraid not. Jonas never told me 
any details concerning his affairs. What we 
learned came from other sources. What about 
the girl, Phil?” 

“ Nothing new. I can’t believe that she was 
Uncle Jonas’ wife.” He added in a different 
tone, “ Mac plans to interview the dealer this 
morning. I may have some news for you when 
I return.” 

As Norris was leaving, he said to his mother, 
“ Telephone Miss Warner that I won’t be down 
to the office today. If anything of importance 
turns up, she can let you know.” 

The storm of yesterday had passed, leaving in 
its wake untrodden wastes of snow, vast spaces 
of virgin purity that reflected the glittering rays 
of the winter sun with blinding brightness. But 
it was not the glinting sunlight that dazzled 
Norris and confused his vision. His eyes were 
bound by the sight of a girlish figure in a sable 
coat and toque that ran lightly down the steps 
of the last house in the row and slipped into 
the waiting motor. 

Something familiar about this figure sent a 
thrill of excitement down Norris’ spine. He 
rushed across the intervening space that divided 
him from the car. By the time he reached the 
spot the machine had glided silently away. 


THE DEALER IN ANTIQUES 117 


In puzzled wonderment, Norris stood looking 
after that streak of crimson that ran like a trail 
of blood across the white expanse of unbroken 
snow. Then he laughed at his own ridiculous 
fancy. Was he going to suspect every wearer 
of a sable coat? The unknown girl could not 
possibly live in Morningside Heights. There was 
no connection between Gramercy Park and the 
wealthy neighborhood in which he lived. 

He paused on his way to the Subway, startled 
by a sudden thought. There had been a con¬ 
necting link between the two neighborhoods in 
his case, why not in the girl’s? He must find 
out who dwelt in that end house. 

Aleppo Kastamuni’s Antique Shop was situ¬ 
ated in lower Fifth Avenue. Norris knew the 
place. He had been in once or twice with friends 
although he had never met the proprietor who 
was said to be a queer character, clever, sly, and 
considered half-mad by some. 

When Norris reached his destination, he found 
McKelvie pacing up and down before the door 
of the shop like a watchdog. The latter greeted 
his friend with a glum expression. 

“ Williams has been in there badgering the 
Jew,” he commented. “ I suppose that when we 
go in, Kastamuni will be tempted to throw us 
out rather than give us information. Williams 


118 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


has about as much tact as a blundering bull in 
a china store.” 

“ Why didn’t you question Williams when he 
left? Then you wouldn’t have to bother the 
dealer,” asked Norris. 

McKelvie laughed oddly. 

“ I told you before that Williams doesn’t 
like me. He would simply try hard to send 
me off on a false scent. With him everything 
is fair in love and war, and this is war to the 
hilt, where he is concerned. If it were only 
Jones who had charge of the investigation, we 
might pull in double harness quite amicably. 
But what’s the use of growling over what can’t 
be helped? Let’s go in. There is no harm in 
casting about. My fly might land us a fish or 
two.” 

He opened the door and Norris followed him 
into a dimly-lighted octagonal room where a 
hushed, religious atmosphere pervaded, resting 
with a benediction upon the varied and beau¬ 
tiful antiques and relics and other objets d’art 
with which the place was filled. There was one 
vase in particular that caught Norris’ eye, an 
exquisite little piece of sang-de-bceuf shaped 
like an amphora. As the young chemist took 
it up to examine it more closely, Aleppo Kasta- 
muni came out from the darkness of an obscure 


THE DEALER IN ANTIQUES 119 

recess and held out a long bony hand for the 
vase. 

“ That’s sold,” he said harshly, in slurring 
tones, as if he feared that the young man might 
contaminate it. 

Norris relinquished the vase as he scanned the 
odd figure before him. The dealer was bent 
almost double by the misshapen twist of his 
back. From between hunched shoulders peered 
a sharp, olive-tinted face with restless, darting 
eyes, a large, prominent nose, and an untidy, 
long gray beard. He was dressed in a loose 
black robe and wore a skull cap on his unkempt 
gray hair. Yet there was an impression of con¬ 
scious power that emanated from him as though 
he were accustomed to commanding and being 
obeyed. 

As Kastamuni placed the vase inside a cabinet 
with a caressing motion of his thin hands, Mc- 
Kelvie, who had been glancing casually about 
the room but who had really been studying the 
dealer, approached the Jew. Taking a card from 
his pocket, McKelvie held it out to the hunch¬ 
back. The Jew took it, glanced at it, and then 
crumpled it angrily in his claw-like fist. His 
olive skin grew darker. With a swift, gliding 
motion he reached the door and flung it open. 

“ Get out,” he cried in a voice choked with 


120 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


rage. “ I had to answer the damned police but 
I won’t have anybody else snooping about my 
affairs.” 

McKelvie crossed to the door, swung it shut, 
and placed his back against it. “ Come, Mr. 
Kastamuni, you are only rendering yourself 
liable to suspicion. I did not come here to accuse 
you as Sergeant Williams did.” 

“ How do you know that?” demanded Kasta¬ 
muni quickly, his black, beady eyes darting 
restlessly over McKelvie’s serious face. “ Are 
you connected with the police?” 

“ No, but I am acquainted with Williams’ 
methods. As I was saying, I came here to get 
information to help clear you, not to incriminate 
you.” 

McKelvie nodded toward Norris who had 
been watching this passage at arms with keen 
interest, wondering which would win out in the 
end. 

“ This gentleman is Mr. Norris, nephew of 
the murdered man. He wants to get to the bot¬ 
tom of the mystery.” 

“ I know nothing about it,” sullenly remarked 
the dealer. 

“ I’m not saying you do. I simply want to 
trace that mummy case that was removed from 
the box. The entire thing came from your shop. 


THE DEALER IN ANTIQUES 121 


It will be sufficient if you tell me when it was 
purchased and by whom.” 

Kastamuni stood silent for a while, contem¬ 
plating his long, thin hands. Presently he 
growled, “ The police accuse me of sending the 
box to Gramercy Park West. I never sold 
anything to anybody in that locality and who¬ 
ever said I did, lied.” 

McKelvie shrugged. “ I have James Ford- 
ney’s word for it that he purchased the box from 
you. Besides I have seen it. It wouldn’t sur¬ 
prise me a bit if Williams got out a warrant 
for your arrest on the charge of removing the 
mummy case and helping the criminal smuggle 
himself into the house in Gramercy Park.” 

A sly, crafty expression stole into the beady 
eyes. “ Let him bring the warrant,” exclaimed 
the Jew angrily. “ He can’t put me behind the 
bars on any such charge. I can prove I never 
sold anything to any one by the name of Ford- 
ney. Just ask Coster & Son where they de¬ 
livered that box. And if you don’t believe them, 
why go and inquire of Agnew & Co., the big 
importers of antiques.” 

“ There’s no point in becoming angry with 
me,” remarked McKelvie, complacently. “ I’m 
not responsible for what the police will do. If 
you find yourself in difficulties, you might try 


122 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


sending for me. I may be in a position to aid 
you, even though you have refused to give me 
information.” 

The dealer smiled satirically, a skeptical light 
in his crafty eyes, as though he had no great faith 
in McKelvie’s promises. 

At the door, McKelvie paused. “ One more 
question. Was that box originally supplied with 
hinges and a lock?” 

“ Mummy case receptacles that are genuine 
don’t have locks and hinges,” retorted the Jew, 
a trifle contemptuous of the other’s abysmal 
ignorance. “ The lid is fastened on by means of 
wooden pegs that fit into grooves in the box 
itself.” 

“ My mistake. Good morning.” 

The two men left the shop and the dealer 
closed the door upon his unwelcome visitors with 
obvious relief. 

“ He wasn’t exactly garrulous,” commented 
Norris. 

“ No. He’s clever. Williams, like a blunder¬ 
ing fool, put the Jew on his guard. We’ll never 
get anything out of the fellow now, if we live 
to be as old as Methuselah.” 

Norris clutched McKelvie’s arm in quick ex¬ 
citement. “ Do you see that crimson car, Mac?” 
he exclaimed, his eyes on a low-slung roadster 


THE DEALER IN ANTIQUES 123 


that had drawn up before Kastamuni’s door. 
“ I saw that car in Morningside Heights this 
morning. I am almost certain that the girl who 
is driving is-” 

He broke off abruptly as McKelvie drew him 
into the shadow of a nearby doorway. The 
girl had descended from the car and was looking 
about her as though uncertain of her destination. 
Then she caught a glimpse of Kastamuni’s sign, 
and crossing to the door, she entered the shop. 
But not before Norris had recognized her. She 
was the girl he had seen in the drug store, the 
girl whose mutilated portrait was standing in 
his uncle’s home. Even that brief glimpse of 
her set his heart to racing in a most unaccount¬ 
able manner. 

“ What,” he asked in a troubled tone, “ do 
you suppose she wants of Kastamuni?” 

“ That I cannot say. Although it is always 
possible that she may be interested in antiques,” 
returned McKelvie dryly. “ But, what’s up 
now?” 

The girl had emerged from the shop, the Jew 
at her side. He was talking rapidly and gesticu¬ 
lating wildly but she was evidently not inter¬ 
ested in his remarks. Several times she shook 
her head, each time more emphatically. When 
she reached her car, she slid into her seat and 



124 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


had the roadster in motion before the dealer 
could finish his sentence. Angrily he shook his 
fist, then scurried back to his store. 

“ That young lady is quite capable of looking 
after herself,” was McKelvie’s appraisal. 
“ Come, Phil. Staring after her car isn’t going 
to help us solve this mystery.” 

Norris came back to himself with a start. 
“ What’s the program?” he asked. “Another 
interview with Kastamuni?” 

“ Do you think he would be inclined to be 
confidential over an argument in which he was 
worsted? I have a better lead than that. I’m 
going to see what Coster & Son can do for us.” 


CHAPTER XII 
The Duplicate Case 

“ Is Kastamuni mixed up in this affair?” in¬ 
quired Norris as they swung toward Third 
Avenue. 

McKelvie, who had stopped at a drug store 
long enough to obtain Coster’s address, came out 
of his brown study. “ Frankly, I don’t know. 
It all depends where the mummy case was re¬ 
moved from its box.” 

“ Where the mummy case — yes, of course, 
I had forgotten that in order to enter the outer 
receptacle the criminal would have first to dis¬ 
pose of the inner coffin.” He sighed impatiently. 
“ I hate to believe that the girl is concerned in 
the murder.” 

“ It all hinges on the question of motive, Phil. 
Perhaps she had good reason for wishing your 
uncle dead.” 

Norris was silent. His uncle certainly had 
known the girl. The portrait was conclusive 
proof of that fact. Moreover, she was ac¬ 
quainted with Kastamuni, the man who had 
sold his uncle the wooden box by means of 
125 


126 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


which the criminal had effected an entrance 
into the house. Could she have been the one 

to hide- But, no. He would not think that. 

Besides, the whole business was an impossible 
muddle. He was merely wasting time in specu¬ 
lation. 

By this time they had turned into Third 
Avenue and had paused before a flight of steps 
that led into a dark and dingy basement. On 
the iron railing that surrounded the steps de¬ 
pended a worn sign with the words partly obliter¬ 
ated. 

TONY COSTER and SON 

L GHT EXPRE SI G and ARTAGE 
CHEAP at t e PR CE 

This sign, as crazy as the lettering upon it, 
hung by one edge, clattering noisily against the 
railing and waking the echoes with its din. To 
Norris, who was totally unused to scenes of 
squalor, the thought of entering that basement 
was repugnant, but since his chance of unravel¬ 
ling the mystery was dependent upon his descent 
into that subterranean cavern, he put aside his 
squeamishness, and picked his way down the 
dirty steps to the narrow, cemented room below, 
where McKelvie had already preceded him. 

The atmosphere was so thick that one could 



THE DUPLICATE CASE 


127 


almost part it with one’s hands, rank and fetid 
with the mingled odors of garlic, cheap tobacco 
and unwashed human bodies. Behind the coun¬ 
ter lounged an ill-favored man in his shirt¬ 
sleeves. 

“ Are you Tony Coster?” inquired McKelvie, 
trying not to inhale any more of that poisonous 
air than he could help. 

“ Naw. I’m his son,” responded the man, 
mouthing a toothpick. “ Dyu want cartage 
done?” 

“ No. I want some information about a case 
that you were to deliver night before last at 
Gramercy Park West,” explained McKelvie. 

The man’s ugly face was jerked forward over 
the counter like the head of an angry snake. 
“ What dyu mean ‘ were to deliver’?” he asked 
belligerently. 

“ Just what I said,” replied McKelvie quietly. 
“ Did you deliver the case?” 

Coster lifted a pugnacious jaw. “ Say, what 
yu gotta do withut anyhow? Are yu one of them 
fly cops?” 

“ No. I’m Jonas Fielding’s representative.” 

The man blinked on the word and Norris 
thought he was going to choke on the toothpick, 
but Coster recovered his breath with the dex¬ 
terity of long practice. 


128 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Say, what youse guys tryin’ to do?” he 
snarled. “ I ain’t never delivered nothing to no 
Jonas Fielding.” 

Patiently McKelvie persisted. “ That’s what 
I’m trying to get at,” he said. “ Jonas Fielding 
bought the case from Kastamuni. If you didn’t 
deliver it to him, to whom did you take it, then?” 

Coster’s dull eyes brightened. “ I get youse 
now,” he averred more affably. “ But youse 
got the wrong dope. We ain’t delivered nothing 
to the wrong parties. I gotta receipt for both 
them cases.” 

As the expressman dived under the counter, 
McKelvie exchanged glances with Norris. 
“ We’re getting on,” he whispered exultantly. 
“ Did you notice what he said, Phil?” 

Norris nodded gloomily. It seemed to him 
that the existence of another mummy case recep¬ 
tacle only served to further becloud the issue. 

At this moment Coster produced a dirty file 
case which he slammed on the counter and 
opened. Then with a frequently moistened flat 
thumb he turned the pages until he found the 
papers he was seeking. 

McKelvie glanced at them and handed them 
silently to Norris. They were the usual type of 
printed cartage bill. One was made out to 
Eldredge Howe on Morningside Heights; the 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


129 


other to Oldfield Kramer at an address on Fourth 
Avenue. 

The first was of no interest to Norris. The 
second held his astonished gaze, for at the bot¬ 
tom, in Fordney’s unmistakable, cramped hand, 
was an acknowledgment of the delivery of the 
painted wooden box. 

As Norris returned the receipts slowly to 
Coster, McKelvie continued, “ Where did you 
leave the case that you delivered to Mr. 
Kramer? ” 

“ In the back yard. I told the old fool of a 
servant that weren’t no place to leave that box, 
but he would havut, so I should worry.” Coster 
slammed the file back into place. “ Say, if 
they’s anything wrong wit’ those deliveries, take 
it from muh that the Jew’s the one that’s to 
blame, see?” 

“ Perhaps you’re right. Were those cases very 
heavy?” inquired McKelvie. 

Now that he had cleared himself of suspicion 
Coster seemed not averse to talking nor Mc¬ 
Kelvie to listening, though Norris was impatient 
to get away from that close room. 

“ Purty heavy, Mister,” returned Coster in 
answer to McKelvie’s query. “ The one we 
carried indoors was some baby. Musta weighed 
a ton.” 


130 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ And the other one?” 

“ Not so bad but she might have been worse,” 
grinned the man. 

Having learned sufficient for his purpose, Mc- 
Kelvie thanked Coster for his amiability, and 
motioned Norris that he was ready to leave. 
When they once more reached the level of the 
sidewalk, the chemist filled his lungs with the 
cold fresh air. 

“ Phew! One more minute down there and 
I’d have expired. Even my chemicals aren’t 
so vile as that atmosphere. How could you 
stand it, Mac?” 

“ Not from choice. I have to stand worse 
than that sometimes or I would never catch even 
the tail of a clue. But since you object so 
strongly to Third Avenue, suppose we try Front 
Street. I should like to have a talk with Mr. 
Agnew.” 

At Norris’ impatient jerk of the shoulders, 
McKelvie smiled. Fie knew that his friend was 
finding the road of investigation long and te¬ 
dious, and tame by comparison with the amaz¬ 
ing events through which he had been carried 
the evening before. 

“What’s the trouble, Phil?” he said. 

“ There’s no royal road to the end of a mystery, 
you know.” 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


131 


“ But, we’re getting nowhere,” expostulated 
Norris. 

“ On the contrary, we have made great prog¬ 
ress this morning,” asserted McKelvie calmly. 
“ We know that Fordney purchased the case 
under the name of Kramer, and that it was left 
in the yard of the vacant Fourth Avenue house 
back of your uncle’s place. We also know that 
there was another case delivered to Eldredge 
Howe on Morningside Heights-” 

“ What of it?” interrupted Norris impatiently. 
“ Eldredge Howe is a noted Egyptologist. I’ve 
seen his name mentioned in the papers in con¬ 
nection with various controversies concerning 
things Egyptian. What is there so strange in 
his having bought a mummy case?” 

“ Not in his having bought one, but in the fact 
that his case and your uncle’s left Kastamuni’s 
store at the same time. How do we know that 
Howe bought a mummy case and not simply 
an empty receptacle?” suggested McKelvie 
calmly, although his eyes were dancing. 

Norris surveyed his friend in amazement. 
“ What are you hinting?” he asked, startled. 

“ At nothing in particular. But it’s a nice 
little problem all its own, just the same. And 
it may account for your uncle’s receiving the 
empty box so opportunely.” 



132 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Mac,” Norris exclaimed suddenly, after re¬ 
volving the other’s statement in his mind, “ I 
have just reached a horrible conclusion. From 
the address on that cartage bill, I am quite cer¬ 
tain that the girl must know Eldredge Howe. 
It was his house that she came out of this 
morning.” 

“ Ah,” said his companion softly. “ We must 
call on Eldredge Howe and meet this young 
woman, if it is possible.” He glanced at his 
wrist-watch and hailed a passing taxi. “ At 
present we have just time to see Agnew before 
the inquest.” 

As he took his place in the motor, Norris 
passed a hand over his brow. “ I’d forgotten all 
about that formality. What’s the good of an 
inquest?” 

“ Oh, it gives the coroner a job and Williams 
the opportunity to show off.” McKelvie added 
in a more serious vein, “ There is always the 
chance of learning something of value, although 
such a possibility is extremely doubtful in this 
instance. We know how the criminal got in and 
out. What we need to learn is the motive for the 
crime.” 

“ Wouldn’t it be a good plan then to learn the 
history of my uncle’s past?” 

McKelvie smiled tolerantly. “ My dear fel- 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


133 


low, for what do you take me? I cabled Paris 
last night for information.” 

“ Why depend on Paris alone? My uncle did 
not always live in Paris.” 

“ Your logic is admirable. I went to Bellevue 
this morning. Fordney is coming around. In 
a day or two we ought to be able to secure his 
story. He should know something of your 
uncle’s past.” 

The taxi pulled up before a large brick build¬ 
ing and the two men alighted. 

Agnew & Co. proved to be a humming hive of 
activity. Without, boxes of goods were being 
checked off and installed; cases were being in¬ 
spected and loaded on trucks. Within, dealers 
of every state and condition from the rich 
owner of an uptown Fifth Avenue establish¬ 
ment to the mole-like proprietor of a dingy 
basement in the Ghetto were haggling over 
prices; clerks were nimbly darting to and fro 
like buzzing bumblebees; here and there an anti¬ 
quarian gloated over some newly discovered 
treasure which he caressed with longing glance 
while he debated whether his fast dwindling 
income would stand the added strain. 

A vivacious blond behind an enclosed glass 
cage labelled “ Cashier ” smilingly directed Mc- 
Kelvie to the third floor where Mr. Agnew had 


134 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


his offices. Norris experienced the strange sen¬ 
sation as he left the elevator that he was step¬ 
ping into a new world, so marked was the peace 
and serenity of Agnew’s office by contrast with 
the confused movement and incessant chatter 
of the floor he had just quitted. 

McKelvie’s card and an engaging smile be¬ 
stowed on the pretty secretary in the outer 
office obtained the desired result, almost instant 
admission to Agnew’s presence, much to Norris’ 
secret amusement. He had to acknowledge that 
McKelvie was a past master in the art of get¬ 
ting what he wanted. The latter was a born 
wheedler, an inheritance from his Irish mother. 

Thus Norris was not surprised that Agnew 
received them so graciously. The head of the 
importing firm was a florid-faced man, inclined 
to portliness, with a pleasant manner and a con¬ 
fident, alert eye. As he inquired genially what 
he could do for McKelvie, he studied the young 
men and judged them shrewdly. 

McKelvie, on his side, was debating how to 
answer. One of his maxims ran something like 
this: Never take the whole world into your 
confidence in an investigation of a mystery, for 
there is bound to be one among the number who 
will play you false. 

This precept, whose wisdom was a direct gift 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


135 


from his canny Scotch forebears on the paternal 
side of the house, influenced McKelvie’s talk 
with Agnew. 

“ I’m looking for a mummy case to add to 
my collection. If possible I should like to pur¬ 
chase a duplicate of either of the cases that you 
recently sold to Kastamuni,” he began tenta¬ 
tively, like a man feeling his way through a diffi¬ 
cult situation. 

Agnew smiled at the naivete of the request. 
“ My dear sir, do you think that mummy cases 
grow on trees? I could not possibly duplicate 
those cases for the simple reason that they 
already happen to be duplicates. Very seldom 
are two of these coffins carved alike. Those 
you are speaking of happened to belong to twin 
princesses. I don’t suppose you could find 
another like them in the world.” 

McKelvie’s mobile features expressed the 
proper shade of disappointment. Before he 
could frame an appropriate reply, Agnew con¬ 
tinued with a peculiar smile, “ Have you come 
here, Mr. McKelvie, because you are investi¬ 
gating the murder of Jonas Fielding?” 

McKelvie groaned comically. “ The news¬ 
papers,” he said, ruefully. “ I had quite over¬ 
looked the fact that by this time the whole of 
New York knows of the crime. I don’t read 


136 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


the papers when I am engrossed in a case.” He 
added carelessly, “ Was that a chance shot, or 
a shrewd guess, Mr. Agnew?” 

“ Say rather the ability to add up a simple 
sum,” responded Agnew pleasantly. “ I have 
heard your name before, Mr. McKelvie. And 
the newspapers mentioned Mr. Philip Norris, 
as the nephew of the murdered man.” 

Seeing that Agnew had been too clever to 
swallow his bait, McKelvie remarked unabashed, 
“ To be frank with you, Mr. Agnew, I came here 
to learn all I could concerning those mummy 
cases. You say that they are duplicates. Do 
you mean by that that the outer cases are dupli¬ 
cates also?” 

“ Most assuredly. I doubt if one case can be 
distinguished from the other.” 

“ Would it be possible for any one to imitate 
the outer case?” 

“ That depends. If one of the boxes was used 
as a model, I suppose that a fair imitation could 
be produced,” returned Agnew, eyeing McKelvie 
thoughtfully. “ Are you suggesting that the 
case in Mr. Fielding’s vault is an imitation of 
the one he bought?” 

“ The idea occurred to me,” responded Mc¬ 
Kelvie, his grave face betraying no sign of what 
was in his mind. 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


137 


“May I ask why?” continued Agnew prob- 
ingly. 

“ I’m sorry that I cannot divulge at present 
the reason for my conclusion. I will say this, 
however. The case in question has been sup¬ 
plied with a modern lock and hinges.” 

“ Then in all probability it is the original 
case. Kastamuni requested expressly that a lock 
and hinges be put on one of the boxes.” 

“ A lock that could be opened from within as 
well?” put in McKelvie. 

“ No. The sort of lock that is usually placed 
on the drawer of a desk, fitted into the wood with 
the keyhole on the outside.” Agnew reached for 
the telephone. “ I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m 
interested in this affair since in a way it involves 
my house. I’ll go over with you and identify 
the case.” 

“ I shall appreciate the courtesy, Mr. Agnew.” 

Agnew gave orders to have his car sent around 
and the three men were driven to Gramercy Park 
West. 

Here they found Williams already in com¬ 
mand, superintending the arrangements for the 
coming inquest. 

“ This is a bit awkward,” murmured Mc¬ 
Kelvie in Norris’ ear, when he had introduced 
Williams to Agnew, explaining that the latter 


138 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


was the original purchaser of the case. “ I don’t 
know how much Williams was able to learn from 
Kastamuni and I don’t want him to know about 
that second mummy case quite yet — until I 
have a chance to test the plausibility of a cer¬ 
tain deduction. Perhaps I can give Agnew a 
hint.” 

That McKelvie succeeded in doing so was 
apparent to Norris when the four men stood in 
that cold, unpleasant vault and Agnew examined 
the case with an inscrutable countenance. When 
the importer finally turned away Norris could 
not tell what conclusion the man had reached. 

Williams demanded avidly, “ It’s all right, 
eh?” 

Agnew replied, “ Yes, it’s the case I purchased 
without a doubt.” 

Williams turned triumphantly to McKelvie. 
“ Confess now that you thought there was some¬ 
thing wrong with the case,” he said. 

McKelvie smiled. “ You’re a sharp one, Wil¬ 
liams. How did you know that I suspected its 
genuineness?” 

“ Because you suspect everything, looking 
for hidden meanings where all is clear as crys¬ 
tal,” responded Williams complacently. 

“ What a ‘ monstrous clever fellow ’ I deem 
myself, to be sure. But I won’t detain you any 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


139 


longer, Mr. Agnew. It must be pretty close to 
luncheon time.” 

The three men left the house together and 
when they reached the importer’s blue limousine, 
Agnew said in a confidential tone, “ The case is 
genuine enough, Mr. McKelvie. It’s the lock 
that has been tampered with.” 

“ Ah. Will you be so good as to find out for 
me whether the lock was changed before the case 
left your place?” asked McKelvie eagerly. 

Agnew stepped into his car. “ Call me up 
sometime this afternoon and I’ll have an answer 
for you,” he replied. 

“ Thank you. And now, Phil, we’re only a 
step from Stuyvesant Square. Come home to 
luncheon with me. After that you will be ready 
for the inquest.” 

“ And you?” 

“ I’ll be there. I want Williams to ask Kasta- 
muni a few questions for me.” 

“ What, for instance?” 

“ The lock might have been changed in his 
store, you see.” 

Norris nodded thoughtfully and the two men 
traversed the remaining distance to Stuyvesant 
Square in silence. Places always spoke to the 
young chemist of their past and he was delighted 
with McKelvie’s quaint old red-brick house with 


140 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


its white porticoed door, a relic of the days when 
the Square was one of the fashionable districts 
of town. 

They were admitted by Dinah, McKelvie's 
factotum, a very black, very stout, old southern 
mammy who handed her employer an unad¬ 
dressed white envelope with a gloomy air. 

“ Where did this come from, Dinah?” 

“ Ah dunno, Massah Graydon. De bell done 
ring like it whar possessed and when I open de 
door dey was nuffin' dere but dis yere lettah,” 
she replied lugubriously. “ It am a warnin', 
Massah Graydon. Doan be gettin’ yoself mur- 
dahed for folks what ain't wuth it, sah." 

McKelvie smiled. “ Don’t be such a pessi¬ 
mist, Dinah. I have managed to survive all my 
previous adventures.” He examined the enve¬ 
lope. “ Very cheap grade,” he commented. 
“ Delivered by hand since there is no stamp.” 

He removed the contents, a sheet of ordinary 
pad paper, and he pursed his lips as he read. 
“ That's queer. This is from Gordon.” 

“ The policeman on the Gramercy Park 
beat?” inquired Norris. 

“ Yes. This is what he says. ‘ The druggist 
enquired about the watch. He wanted to know 
if I could get it back for him as he had made a 
mistake with regard to the owner. Thought you 


THE DUPLICATE CASE 


141 


might like to know this.’ What do you make of 
it, Phil?” 

“ Well — the watch was my uncle’s, of 
course-” 

McKelvie pocketed the note with an odd 
smile. “ I think,” he remarked, “ that luncheon 
is ready.” 



CHAPTER XIII 
J. T. F. Claims the Watch 

The inquest, as McKelvie had predicted, car¬ 
ried them no further. Although the strange¬ 
ness of the crime had attracted quite a large 
crowd, the evidence was disappointingly inade¬ 
quate. The scarf pin, the paper with its Bibli¬ 
cal quotation, the dagger, were substantial 
enough clues and satisfactory as far as they went, 
but no one was able to state whether the articles 
had belonged to the dead man or his murderer, 
since the star witness was missing. 

Doctor Jamieson, professionally indifferent to 
the displeasure of the police, had absolutely re¬ 
fused to allow Fordney to testify. 

“ You move him at the risk of his life,” the 
head physician of Bellevue had protested indig¬ 
nantly. “ Besides, he’s in no condition to be 
badgered by the authorities. When he is out of 
danger you can have his testimony.” 

In the next place, Kastamuni when he took 
the stand proved obstinately close-mouthed. 
Threats and adjurations had no effect on the 
Jew. 


142 


J. T. F. CLAIMS THE WATCH 143 


He stood before that room crowded with spec¬ 
tators, reporters, and police, with his head thrust 
forward between his high shoulders, with his 
hands clasped meekly in front of him, a melan¬ 
choly image of the sublime patience of his mar¬ 
tyred race, but all the coroner could get out of 
him was emphatic denial. Over and over he 
repeated stubbornly in mournfully musical syl¬ 
lables that he had not sold a mummy case to 
the murdered man, that he had never to his 
knowledge heard of either Jonas Faraday or his 
servant Forthright. 

Even when McKelvie made a whispered sug¬ 
gestion and the coroner brought up the question 
of the lock on the case, the Jew merely spread 
out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. 

Norris, looking about the thronged library 
under the uneasy apprehension that Williams 
had perchance discovered the girl and remanded 
her as a witness, encountered the burning eyes of 
Arlita Farrell’s father fixed upon him. He called 
McKelvie’s attention to the gaunt figure. 

“What do you suppose he’s doing here?” 
whispered the chemist. “ Can he have known 
my uncle?” 

“ Stranger things have been known to be 
true. I have been wondering about him myself 
since Gordon brought the watch that was found 


144 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


in the drug-store,” returned McKelvie, apprais¬ 
ing the pallid face of the actress’ father. 

“ Why should he have it? The watch was 
my uncle’s?” objected Norris. 

“ I hardly think your uncle lost it,” replied 
McKelvie pointedly. 

“ You mean-? But, why should Arlita 

Farrell’s father kill my uncle?” protested Norris. 

McKelvie shrugged. “ As to that, why 
shouldn’t he have done so? What do we know 
about him?” 

“ But what motive-?” 

“ That’s what we’ll have to find out. I don’t 
mean to say that he is the criminal, necessarily. 
Just that he bears investigating. I think I’ll 
have a talk with him when this inquest is over.” 

Williams’ rumbling tones put an end to the 
dialogue. “ Will you please take the stand, Mr. 
Norris,” he requested, curtly. 

Norris complied, wondering what was coming. 

“ It has been shown, Mr. Norris,” remarked 
the coroner, “ that you struck your uncle with 
the bronze ferule with which you were attempt¬ 
ing to open the mummy case receptacle. Why 
did you do this?” 

“ In self-defense. The vault was dark. I had 
no idea that the man who had attacked me was 
my uncle.” 




J. T. F. CLAIMS THE WATCH 145 


“ Why should he attack you?’’ 

Norris gave the explanation that McKelvie 
had suggested the night before; namely, that in 
a moment of terror Jonas Fielding had gripped 
him, and that in the dark, each had mistaken 
the other for an enemy. 

The coroner accepted the explanation without 
comment and would have proceeded to the next 
point in the inquiry had not Williams interfered. 
To the detective defeat was galling and he was 
particularly incensed at his failure to obtain 
information of an incriminating nature from the 
dealer in antiques. Whereupon he abandoned 
his preconceived theories and jumped to the 
conclusion that Norris must be guilty since no 
one else could possibly have entered the house. 
Williams put no faith in McKelvie’s assertion 
that the criminal had gained entrance concealed 
in the mummy case box. 

“ Mr. Norris,” continued the coroner at Wil¬ 
liams’ instigation, “ investigation shows that 
your uncle had amply protected himself against 
unwarrantable intrusion. In other words, no 
one could enter the house without his instant 
knowledge. Is it not a rather strange coinci¬ 
dence that you should have been present in the 
vault when the murder was committed?” 

Norris ran his sensitive fingers through his 


146 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


hair with a nervous, jerky movement. “ I have 
told you before that I was unconscious/’ he re¬ 
plied, uncomfortably aware for the first time of 
the many pairs of eyes directed challengingly 
and skeptically toward him. 

Williams snorted and the coroner remarked 
with gentle sarcasm, “ You impose on our credu¬ 
lity when you expect us to believe that your 
uncle purposely rendered you unconscious that 
he might thereby meet his murderer with no 
troublesome witnesses about to disclose the 
author of the crime.” 

Norris flushed and his jaw set. He might 
have endeavored to explain more fully had the 
coroner not seen fit to poke fun at him. Now 
he stubbornly refused to add another word to his 
previous statement. 

Presently the coroner threw up his chubby 
hands in despair and disgust. “ Since we can 
neither prove nor disprove your alibi, we shall 
have to let the matter rest for the present.” He 
dismissed Norris and turned to Williams. 

After a hurried conference the coroner an¬ 
nounced with apparent distaste, “ We have not, 
owing to the unavoidable absence of certain im¬ 
portant witnesses, obtained sufficient evidence to 
render a verdict. The inquest is postponed for 
this day week.” 


J. T. F. CLAIMS THE WATCH 147 


With the first outward surge of the crowd, 
McKelvie pushed his way through the throng 
to the side of Arlita FarreH’s father. Norris, 
close at his friend’s heels, listened in silence to 
the ensuing colloquy. 

“ Good afternoon, sir,” began McKelvie 
pleasantly. “ Have I the honor of addressing 
Miss Farrell’s father?” 

“ You have that honor,” returned the other 
with great seriousness. “ John Thurston Farrell, 
at your service, sir.” 

“ Do you recall entering Hammel’s Pharmacy 
last evening to buy cigars?” continued McKelvie, 
watching the other closely. 

The deep-set eyes grew eager. “ You have 
news of my watch?” queried Farrell avidly. 
He took from his pocket with trembling fingers 
a copy of the Evening World, and pointed to a 
marked advertisement. 

“ Lost — On the evening of December — a 
gold watch in an old-fashioned case, bearing 
inside initials J. T. F. and an auburn lock of 
hair. Finder kindly return to No.— Gramercy 
Park East. Reward.” 

McKelvie glanced at the notice and came to 
a quick decision. He presented Norris. “ Mr. 
Norris has your watch, Mr. Farrell. He will 


148 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


see that you receive it during the course of the 
afternoon.” 

“ Thank you. The watch was a gift to me. I 
would not lose it for the world. Will you tell 
me where you found it? I cannot recall where 
I mislaid it.” 

Norris explained how he had come into pos¬ 
session of the watch. When he spoke, Farrell’s 
eyes seemed to devour him with a burning in¬ 
tensity. To avoid their fiery glare, Norris moved 
aside, only to discover that Williams was observ¬ 
ing him with a coldly calculating glance. Un¬ 
easily he suggested departure. 

Norris was relieved to find himself once more 
in the open air, free from the baleful stare of 
Williams’ shrewd eyes. The man induced in 
him a consciousness of guilt, oppressed as he 
was by the atmosphere of that gloomy house 
with its ugly, haunting ghosts. 

Norris entertained the impression that at any 
moment the detective would arrest him for the 
crime. He reluctantly confessed as much to 
McKelvie as they walked briskly toward the 
Subway. 

McKelvie smiled, a satirical gleam in his eye 
at the thought of the obvious farce which the 
inquest had proved itself to be. “ Don’t take 
Williams too seriously,” he said lightly. “ You 


J. T. F. CLAIMS THE WATCH 149 


have got him so befuddled that he doesn’t know 
where to turn next for evidence.” 

“ He didn’t get much from the other wit¬ 
nesses,” commented Norris. “ Why didn’t you 
testify, Mac?” 

“ I wasn’t asked. Besides Williams knows all 
I do with the possible exception that the lock of 
the case had been tampered with. I’m not giv¬ 
ing that away yet. I don’t want the criminal — 
if he is on the lookout — to learn too soon how 
much I have gleaned.” 

“ Why didn’t Williams mention the fact that 
the mummy case was missing and that there is 
a door in the vault?” asked Norris suddenly. 

“ He was directing the inquest. When he 
realized that the inquiry would have to be post¬ 
poned, he probably decided not to give his hand 
away. Williams isn’t altogether a fool, you 
know.” 

“ I suppose not. Do you know, Mac, I 
would have sworn that watch was my uncle’s.” 

“ Why, Phil?” 

“ I don’t know. Just an idea that it was,” 
responded Norris, thoughtfully. “ I have a 
vague memory of having seen that case before.” 

“ Intuition isn’t proof, Phil, and those old- 
fashioned cases look much alike. Farrell adver¬ 
tised and described the watch correctly. We 


150 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


have no reason to assert that it does not belong 
to him. Have you ever seen the daughter?” 

“ Once — in Hirshkoff’s musical comedy, 
‘ The Cute Little Sinner.’ Why do you ask?” 

“ I was wondering about that lock of hair,” 
replied McKelvie. 

“ She wore a blond wig.” 

McKelvie smiled ruefully. “ Check,” he said. 
“ I shall have to make her acquaintance, I fore¬ 
see.” 

“ I’ve heard that she sets the pace for Broad¬ 
way. I wish you joy in the undertaking,” re¬ 
turned Norris laughing. “ But what’s the pro¬ 
gram, now?” 


CHAPTER XIV 


Eldredge Howe, Egyptologist 

McKelvie delayed his answer until the two 
men were comfortably seated in an uptown ex¬ 
press. The confusion and noise attendant upon 
riding to Union Square and making the change 
at that crowded station with its continual hub¬ 
bub and incessant din of clicking toll-gates, were 
not conducive to conversation. 

He took from his wallet a creased sheet of thin 
note-paper and passed it to his companion. In 
silent wonder Norris read in a fine, old-fashioned 
script, smudged and smeared in spots, “ You 
tricked me. If you do not reveal its immediate 
whereabouts, be assured, sir, that I shall take 
my revenge.— Eldredge Howe.” 

“ Where did you get this, Mac?” inquired 
Norris, studying the words intently. 

“ Last night at your uncle’s house. A gift 
of Providence, Phil. When we went out through 
the secret door of the vault the wind blew this 
paper into my arms. I kept it but I attached 
no importance to it until we learned that Howe 
also had bought a mummy case which was a 

151 


152 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


duplicate of your uncle’s. Of course the fact 
might be mere coincidence. Stranger things 
have been known to happen. Still the girl, if 
you are correct in saying that she came out of 
the Egyptologist’s house this morning, serves as 
a link between Howe and your uncle. There¬ 
fore we do well to investigate the point.” 

“ Do you consider this a threat against my 
uncle?” 

“ The tone of the letter is bombastic. It may 
not have been meant to be as melodramatic as it 
sounds. These rabid Egyptologists are always 
attacking each other verbally. But we dare not 
overlook a single clue.” McKelvie folded away 
the paper and added with a sigh, “ I’m in a 
quandary, Phil.” 

“ Yes?” 

“ If Howe has conspired against your uncle, I 
don’t want to show him my hand. On the con¬ 
trary if he is innocent of evil intentions, I may 
learn more by frankness. It’s the devil’s own 
problem to know which is the right thing to do.” 
McKelvie lapsed into brooding. 

They were nearing tjheir station when lie 
finally roused himself to say, “ I’d better play 
safe until I can determine how the land lies. 
When I left you and Williams in the vault last 
night, I made a copy from memory of those 


ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 153 


marks on the dagger.” He again produced from 
his wallet a sheet of paper which he handed to 
Norris. 

To the latter the marks had the appearance of 
aimless scratches across the white surface of 
the page. After a moment’s futile study, the 
chemist glanced inquiringly at his friend. 

McKelvie smiled. “ Don’t look like much, 
do they? Of course some of them may be 
slightly off, probably are, for that is an enlarge¬ 
ment. They were so very small and indistinct 
on that ring handle that it was quite impossible 
to make them out properly without a more 
powerful lens. But that is beside the question.” 

He added, as they crossed from the Subway 
toward Morningside Heights, “ My plan is this. 
I want you to pretend to be interested in Egypt¬ 
ology and to ask Mr. Howe if he will be kind 
enough to tell you whether that inscription is 
genuine. After that we’ll let things take their 
natural course.” 

As they entered the block in which Norris 
lived, the chemist touched his companion sig¬ 
nificantly on the arm. Drawn up before the 
door of the end house in the row was the low- 
slung roadster. 

McKelvie raised his brows. “ We seem to be 
striking home.” He applied his finger to the 


154 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


bell of the white-stone house. Immediately the 
massive panelled front door swung open. In the 
aperture a footman in livery stood waiting their 
pleasure with his spine so curved inwards with 
excess of dignity that he looked as though he 
were trying to see how close to his heels he could 
bring his round, close-cropped head. 

Following the plan previously agreed upon, 
Norris presented his card on which he had in¬ 
scribed, “ In the interests of Egyptology/’ and 
requested that it be taken to Mr. Howe. The 
footman stalked off unbendingly, leaving them 
stranded in the hall. From somewhere above 
them was wafted toward them the heavy odor 
of pine incense and the house was so still that 
it seemed a sacrilege even to whisper there. 

To Norris there was a sense of mystery about 
the place, a house of hidden secrets and strange 
occurrences; but McKelvie who seldom let his 
fancies rule him when on a case, walked about 
and examined the furnishings, mostly antiques 
and museum pieces of rare distinction and 
exquisite workmanship. 

After a due interval the footman returned and 
asked them in a toneless voice to follow him. 
They ascended a marble staircase that divided 
midway of its course into two circular branches. 
Upon the landing thus formed had been sunk 


ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 155 


a circular basin filled with clear green water 
before an image of the goddess Isis whose 
golden horns were reflected in the still pool. 
On either side of the goddess were fastened green 
sconces from which the smoke of incense rose in 
lazy spirals. 

When the two men reached the wide upper 
hall, they were conducted to the right and 
ushered into a sort of study furnished in grey 
wicker. A man of some seventy years with a 
gentle manner and benign bearded countenance 
greeted them with a pleasant smile. In his 
veined wrinkled hand he held Norris’ card from 
which he glanced toward his visitors with an 
interrogative raising of his bushy white brows. 

McKelvie saw at once that they were dealing 
with a gentleman but a gentleman of the old 
school of narrow prejudices and strict codes — 
mild and harmless on most occasions, but 
capable, like the Romans of old, of the sacrifice 
of his nearest and dearest if his rigid sense of 
honor demanded the immolation. 

Norris introduced himself and his friend, pre¬ 
ferring his request with an engaging smile. The 
Egyptologist professed himself happy to be of 
service. 

“ I am always interested in specimens of 
hieroglyphics,” he averred. “ I’m at the moment 


156 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


writing a treatise on the subject. I can tell you 
in a moment what you desire to know.” 

As he spoke and beamed upon them from be¬ 
neath bushy brows, Eldredge Howe offered his 
callers chairs, and resumed his own place at his 
desk which was piled high with typed sheets and 
volumes of reference. 

Norris handed over the paper which McKelvie 
had given him. “ I trust we have not interrupted 
you, Mr. Howe. These marks are probably 
meaningless. I can see that you are busy-” 

But the old gentleman waved the apology 
aside. Far from being annoyed he studied that 
paper with its odd markings long and intently; 
then he got slowly to his feet and began to pace 
the room, visibly growing more excited. 

“ No, no, it can’t be,” he muttered to himself. 
“ There aren’t two like this.” He came back to 
the desk. “ Would you mind telling me where 
you obtained this inscription, Mr. Norris?” 

Norris glanced at McKelvie for further in¬ 
struction. The latter answered for him, “ Mr. 
Howe, I am a private investigator. Mr. Norris 
has asked me to solve the mystery surrounding 
the recent murder of his uncle. You probably 
saw the account in the papers this morning.” 

“ I never read crime or scandal,” interrupted 
Howe brusquely. 



ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 157 


McKelvie continued as though he had not 
spoken, “ In order to get at the bottom of this 
affair I must follow every clue no matter where 
it leads me. That inscription was found on the 
ring handle of the dagger with which the murder 
was committed. I came to you because I 
thought that by deciphering the meaning of those 
hieroglyphics I might be able to discover the 
owner of the weapon.” 

The Egyptologist tapped the paper against 
his thumb meditatively for several moments. At 
length he said in a low voice, “ You have come 
to the right person then, Mr. McKelvie. I am 
the owner of that dagger.” 

For a space there was silence in the room, an 
unbroken stillness through which there stole the 
heavy odor of pine incense. Norris stared at the 
Egyptologist as though he believed the man had 
suddenly taken leave of his senses. Even Mc¬ 
Kelvie was astounded by the declaration, for 
the thought that the weapon might have be¬ 
longed to Eldredge Howe had not once crossed 
his mind. 

“ Are you absolutely sure that the dagger is 
yours, Mr. Howe?” McKelvie insisted. “ There 
is no doubt in your mind upon that score?” 

The old gentleman shook his head. “ I’m 
afraid there is no room for doubt. This inscrip- 


158 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


tion,” tapping the paper he still held, “ is partly 
obliterated, yet it matches point for point the 
one on the relic I possessed. It is not possible 
that two such weapons exist with the markings 
worn off by time in exactly the same places. But 
we can make absolutely certain in another way. 
Did the dagger have at the base of the ring two 
rough spots as though the projecting pieces had 
been broken off?” There was in his voice an 
eager, vibrant note, the true passion of the con¬ 
noisseur. 

McKelvie glanced at the intent face of the 
Egyptologist. “ Yes, I do recall that peculi¬ 
arity,” he said. “ The idea came to me when I 
was examining the weapon that careless handling 
sometime in the past was responsible for the 
cross pieces of the handle having been broken 
off.” 

Howe smiled. “ You came pretty close to it, 
Mr. McKelvie, but your guess was only partly 
correct. You see, the relic was not originally 
a dagger. It was a ‘ crux ansata/ which means 
nothing to you if you are unfamiliar with Egypt¬ 
ology.” He took a pencil from the desk and 
drew a figure on the sheet of paper. “ There, 
that is a ‘ crux ansata/ the symbol of enduring 
life.” 

He extended the paper so that his visitors 


ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 159 


could see the emblem he had drawn. It resem¬ 
bled a cross with a ring in the place of the upper 
vertical bar; thus, 



“ These emblems are found in every tomb,” 
continued Howe. “ Sometimes the Egyptians 
made them of wood, sometimes of silver, and in 
some cases of gold, depending on the status of 
the person to be buried. This one being silver, 
was found originally in the tomb of a minor 
prince. It is several thousand years old. I do 
not know when the horizontal pieces broke off, 
but I assume that whoever owned the relic after 
that had happened, saw its possibilities and had 
the thing turned into a dagger. At least that is 
its history as far as I know it.” 

“ How do you account for the dagger’s pres¬ 
ence in the murdered man’s breast?” inquired 
McKelvie, recalling the letter he had found. 

“ I loaned it to Aleppo Kastamuni-” 

“ The antique dealer?” exclaimed McKelvie, 
in some surprise. 

“ Yes.” Howe began to pace the floor again. 
“ He’s quite a learned man, but a rascal, sir, 
an utter rascal.” The eyes beneath the bushy 



160 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


brows gleamed with an angry light. “ I trusted 
him absolutely and he was not above tricking 
me.” 

“ In what way?” demanded McKelvie eagerly. 

“ He promised me faithfully to let me know 
who purchased that duplicate mummy case and 
when I went to the address he gave me the house 
was vacant — had been vacant for over a year.” 
Howe paused to add less vehemently, “ But you 
gentlemen cannot appreciate what this means to 
me until you see the case. I’ve got it down the 
hall in what I call my museum chamber.” 

McKelvie and Norris exchanged pleased 
glances as they followed the excitable old gen¬ 
tleman out of the room. In the wide hall Norris 
thought he detected a shadow at the far end 
which whisked out of sight as they approached. 
He called McKelvie’s attention to the fact in a 
low tone. 

McKelvie nodded. “ Some one was listening 
to our conversation with Howe. I caught the 
rustle of a silk garment a while ago. For that 
reason I allowed the old gentleman to do the 
talking. I think he’s innocent enough, but what 
do we know of his household, particularly the 
girl?” 

The museum chamber was in reality an 
Arabian Nights’ palace of wonder and enchant- 


ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 161 


ments. Gossamer veils, finely spun as a spider’s 
web, heavily embroidered in gold, decorated the 
walls, hung between sculptural fragments of the 
heads of kings and queens and princes of vari¬ 
ous Egyptian dynasties. 

In the cabinets that ranged the walls were 
specimens of Egyptian art; alabaster jars, cos¬ 
metic pots, vases of green and blue fayence, 
gilded images, wooden falcons. In the very 
center of the room was a showcase filled with 
jewelry; rings, necklaces, crowns, amulets, brace¬ 
lets, all encrusted with precious stones. But the 
real gem of the collection was the mummy case 
which stood alone in one corner with the lid 
partly raised to give a view of the brown, musty, 
much-wrapped figure within. Beside the case 
stood the painted receptacle in which it be¬ 
longed. 

The two young men needed no urging to ex¬ 
amine the wooden box. In shape and size, in 
design and coloring it was a facsimile of the one 
in the vault of the house in Gramercy Park 
West. The only thing lacking to complete the 
resemblance was the lock and hinges. 

McKelvie interrupted the Egyptologist’s 
glowing eulogies to ask a tentative question. 
“ This case must be several thousand years old. 
How did you come to buy it from Kastamuni?” 


162 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Howe looked his disgust. “ My dear sir, 
that’s what I’m trying to explain to you. I was 
in Kastamuni’s store one afternoon and I over¬ 
heard some chap ordering a mummy case. I 
decided that I might as well order mine at the 
same time, as I have always been anxious to 
own one. Mummy cases are infernally hard to 
get. The museums have taken all that we know 
of, except for one or two in private collections. 
The man who owned those duplicate cases was 
a French archaeologist who died bankrupt. 
That’s how Kastamuni was able to bid for 
them.” 

The old gentleman continued with increasing 
warmth, “ The moment I learned that the cases 
were duplicates, I wanted them both. The pair 
would make my collection priceless and abso¬ 
lutely unique in this country. I obtained from 
Kastamuni the name of the other purchaser and 
I wrote the man a letter making an offer for 
the case.” 

“ I see. When did you write this letter?” 
asked McKelvie. 

“ Before the cases were delivered. I received 
no reply. At once I assumed that Kramer — 
that was the purchaser’s name — had thought 
my offer niggardly. I determined to call on 
him. Yesterday morning I went to the address 


ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 163 


on Fourth Avenue and found the place deserted. 
Furious at the trick that Kastamuni had played 
on me, I called at his store only to find him 
absent. So I returned home and wrote him 
a letter.” 

McKelvie extracted a paper from his wallet 
and handed it to the Egyptologist. “ Is this part 
of it?” he inquired. 

Howe gazed at McKelvie in astonishment. 
“ How did you you get hold of it?” he demanded 
curiously. 

McKelvie told him. “ You must have dropped 
it when you returned to visit the Fourth Avenue 

house.” 

The Egyptologist’s eyes opened wider. “ Are 
you omniscient, Mr. McKelvie?” he asked 
astounded. 

“ Just a shrewd guess, Mr. Howe,” responded 
McKelvie smiling. “ I simply put myself in 
your place, that is all.” 

The old gentleman nodded. “ You are right. 
After I had written that letter, I felt better and, 
thinking the matter over calmly, I recalled that 
the expressman had spoken of delivering the 
other case at Fourth Avenue. I determined to 
have another try at the house. By the time I 
reached Fourth Avenue the storm was rapidly 
growing worse. I had the letter with me, I had 


164 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


placed it in my pocket just as it was, for I in¬ 
tended to leave it at Kastamuni’s store if I found 
that Kramer was a myth. In taking my glasses 
out of my breast pocket, I pulled the letter out 
also. Before I could rescue it, the wind had 
whirled it away beyond my reach. This was the 
second sheet that you found.” 

McKelvie remarked grimly in an aside to 
Norris, “ Another clue gone.” To the older man, 
he said, “ You told me that you wrote to Kramer 
before the mummy case was delivered?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When did you loan Kastamuni the dagger?” 

“ Day before yesterday. I sent it over to him. 
He wanted it to compare with another ‘ crux 
ansata ’ he had bought in order to determine the 
antiquity of his purchase,” returned Howe with 
mounting ire. “ If I had known him as I do 
now, I should not have permitted him to borrow 
anything of mine.” 

“ Who took the dagger to him?” continued 
McKelvie. 

“ My granddaughter-” 

“ What has your granddaughter done that 
she shouldn’t have?” inquired a bright voice. 

At the sound of that lilting, joyous voice, Nor¬ 
ris turned expectantly toward the doorway. 
The next instant there danced into the room a 



ELDREDGE HOWE, EGYPTOLOGIST 165 


bit of autumn glow, a slender young girl with 
burnished red-gold hair and deep blue eyes 
whose winsome beauty preceded her like a radi¬ 
ant flame, extinguishing the splendor of that 
gorgeous room and utterly consuming the young 
chemist. In that moment for him love’s alchemy 
had done its work. 


CHAPTER XV 
Who is Granya Howe? 

The girl, quite well aware of the sensation 
she had created, smiled mischievously. “ Mayn’t 
I know these gentlemen, granddaddy?” she 
asked demurely. 

“ I suppose so,” growled the old gentleman 
with a fond look. “ You would find a means of 
knowing them in any event. My dear, may I 
present Mr. Norris and Mr. McKelvie. Gentle¬ 
men, my granddaughter, Granya Howe.” 

With dancing eyes and a pretty gesture she 
held out both hands at the same time; the left 
to McKelvie, the right to Norris. 

McKelvie, who was not the least carried away 
by the girl’s beauty, shook hands formally and 
released the slim white fingers. Norris, whose 
mind was still trying to reconcile diametrically 
opposing facts, accepted the little hand mechani¬ 
cally and mumbled the conventional reply. 

So it was as simple as that, he thought. She 
was Granya Howe, the granddaughter of the 
famous Egyptologist. And yet — how had his 
uncle come into possession of her portrait? 

166 


WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


167 


Had it been a gift from Mr. Howe? Norris 
recalled his uncle’s strange words to the picture 
and the inscription on the back. “ Granya ” 
was not a common name. So she must have 
been his uncle’s wife. No, that was unthinkable. 

But the girl was speaking in her clear young 
voice. “ Is it necessary to hold my hand so long, 
Mr. Norris?” she said saucily. 

When he colored and stammered a confused 
apology, she laughed merrily, entirely self-pos¬ 
sessed. “ I shouldn’t have minded — only you 
were hurting me.” She flashed him an arch 
glance as she twisted the ring on her finger. 

The sight of that circlet of gold with its in¬ 
criminating symbology — he could see quite 
plainly the words “ Bona Fides ” engraved 
around the base of the three tiny hands — drove 
from his mind all thought of gallantry. Even 
the words he had been about to speak died upon 
his tongue and left him standing mute, gazing 
into her lovely eyes, reproachfully. 

At this point McKelvie, who had been pre¬ 
tending to study Egyptian jewelry but who had 
in reality been watching Granya, saw fit to in¬ 
terrupt. “ Did you say that your granddaughter 
took that dagger we were discussing to Kasta- 
muni?” he inquired of the Egyptologist. 

“ Yes. Yesterday morning I sent her with 


168 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


it. You delivered the relic to the dealer him¬ 
self, didn’t you, Granya?” asked the old gentle¬ 
man confidently. 

For a moment the girl seemed to have diffi¬ 
culty in answering. She looked beyond the 
three men with the expression of one seeking 
inspiration from the ether and Norris saw the 
color flutter in her cheeks. 

Her skin paled perceptibly, then flamed scarlet 
as with a gesture of defiance she turned back 
toward her grandfather. “ Yes, I did deliver it 
to him. He was very glad to get it,” she made 
answer quickly. Then, with a smile for Norris, 
she fled whence she had come and for him all 
the room was darkened instantly. 

“ Was your granddaughter away from home 
last evening, Mr. Howe?” asked McKelvie. 
“ Say about six to half past?” 

The Egyptologist looked sharply at the lean, 
grave face of his questioner, and his eyes nar¬ 
rowed. “ Not that I know of. I was told at 
dinner that she had gone to bed earlier in the 
day with a bad headache. If I thought the 
young minx-” 

McKelvie smiled disarmingly. He had learned 
sufficient for his purpose. “ Not at all. I must 
have been mistaken.” 

Eldredge Howe brushed aside the excuse. He 



WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


169 


walked out into the hall and called brusquely, 
“ Marietta, Marietta, a moment, please.” 

He was in some ways a martinet, accustomed 
to being obeyed. There was an instantaneous 
rustling of silk and from one of the side corridors 
appeared a little, frail old lady in a black taf¬ 
feta dress with a filmy, cream-colored lace shawl 
over her shrunken shoulders. 

Her faded glance rested timidly on her 
brother’s face, then flew like a startled bird to 
light for a fluttering instant on the two young 
men as they were presented to her. It was as 
though she mistrusted all new acquaintances. 

“ Marietta, Mr. McKelvie has just implied 
that he saw Granya last evening,” explained 
Howe severely. “ You told me that she had 
gone to bed with one of her bad headaches-” 

“ So she did, Eldredge, so she did,” broke in 
the old lady in flute-like tones of distress. “ In¬ 
deed you must have been mistaken, sir.” Her 
frightened, pleading eyes were raised to Mc¬ 
Kelvie and he saw that she was trembling so 
that she could hardly stand. 

A sudden overwhelming pity for her made him 
come to her rescue even though he knew she was 
not telling the truth. “ I have already told 
Mr. Howe that I was mistaken,” he reiterated 
with conviction. 



170 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


The old gentleman looked shrewdly from one 
to the other. He spoke to his sister. “ Are you 
telling me the truth, Marietta?” 

Marietta Howe clasped her trembling old 
hands tighter. “ Yes, Eldredge,” she managed 
through dry lips. 

The Egyptologist relaxed from his severity. 
He laid a kindly hand on the lace-covered shoul¬ 
der. “ If you say she was ill, I know she was. 
Don’t distress yourself further about it. Come 
to think of it, she would not venture out in that 
storm. She’s much too sensible.” 

With a gasping, almost inaudible, sigh, inaudi¬ 
ble, that is, to all ears save McKelvie’s who 
was remarkably clairaudient, the little old lady 
hurried away down the side passage. The 
swirl of her draperies brought Norris back from 
the land of dreams. He asked himself if she 
was the one who had been eavesdropping in the 
hall. Even as the question took shape in his 
mind he negatived the suggestion. Miss Howe 
was a lady and ladies did not stoop to such 
underhand methods. 

But McKelvie was signifying his intention of 
leaving, was thanking the Egyptologist for his 
courtesy, so Norris hastened to add his acknowl¬ 
edgments. The two young men had reached 
the gilded image of the goddess Isis when Me- 


WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


171 


Kelvie turned again to the old gentleman who 
was watching their descent from the head of the 
flight. 

“ By the way, Mr. Howe, Jonas Faraday was 
living under an assumed name while in seclusion. 
Did you happen to know him as Jonas Field¬ 
ing?” 

The simple query had a startling effect. If 
McKelvie had thrown a bomb, the result could 
not have been more disastrous. From a benign 
and courteous host, the Egyptologist was trans¬ 
formed into an outraged and infuriated gentle¬ 
man. His eyes flashed fire, his cheeks grew 
purple, and he shook a trembling fist toward 
them, crying out angrily in a choked voice, “ If 
I had known it was Jonas Fielding’s murder 
you were investigating, I’d have told you noth¬ 
ing. He’s the vilest scoundrel that ever walked 
the earth. Go — go before I further forget 
myself.” 

When they were once more out in the bright 
sunlight and the wooden-faced footman had 
closed the door behind them, McKelvie looked 
interrogatively at his friend. “ Now I wonder 
what Fielding was to him or he to Fielding that 
the bare mention of the name should rouse such 
passion in the old gentleman’s breast,” he said, 
paraphrasing his favorite Shakesperean drama. 


172 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ As long as we are close to your house, we might 
as well stop there, Phil. I want to phone 
Agnew.” 

Norris acquiesced readily. Jde wanted to 
relieve his mind by talking the situation over 
with his mother. As they entered the hall, 
Norris remarked, “ What made you think that 
Mr. Howe knew my uncle under the name of 
Fielding?” 

McKelvie chuckled, highly pleased. “ A 
chance shot — that reached its mark. Your 
uncle’s name had not been mentioned during our 
interview with Howe. Considering that your 
uncle was also an Egyptologist and that he 
owned a portrait of Miss Granya Howe, I de¬ 
cided to try what a judicious use of both names, 
Faraday and Fielding, could do for us.” 

Hearing their voices, Mrs. Norris joined them. 
While McKelvie phoned, Norris told his mother 
of the day’s occurrences, dwelling particularly 
on the phase of it that dealt with Granya Howe. 

“ Do you think, since he hates my uncle so, 
that Mr. Howe will try to poison Granya’s mind 
against me?” he asked anxiously, pacing up and 
down before the library hearth, for life held for 
him no more exquisite delight than the pleas¬ 
ure of seeing her again. 

“ If Miss Howe has anything of the modern 


WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


173 


young woman in her composition, I’ll wager that 
she thinks for herself without consulting her 
grandfather,” responded McKelvie, who had 
entered in time to catch the question. “ I fer¬ 
vently hope so, for I want you to cultivate her 
acquaintance.” 

Mrs. Norris glanced quickly at McKelvie’s 
serious face. “ Graydon, is this girl the answer 
to your problem?” 

Before McKelvie could reply Norris broke in 
indignantly, “ Mac, you are not hinting that you 
think she never took the dagger to the dealer?” 

“ What else? You know as well as I do that 
Granya Howe was not telling the truth when she 
said she had delivered the weapon.” 

“ Nonsense. I don’t believe that. You have 
no proof.” 

“ Perhaps not. However, to be on the safe 
side, I phoned Kastamuni, taking the liberty of 
using Howe’s name. The Jew never received 
the dagger,” was McKelvie’s imperturbable 
reply. 

“ He was lying. Granya is innocent, I tell 
you,” retorted Norris vehemently. But even as 
he reassured himself an imp of perversity in the 
back of his mind, reiterated with hammering in¬ 
sistence, “ What was she doing near the scene 
of the crime? Why did she pretend that she 


174 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


had been home ill when she was out in the 
storm? Perhaps she alone had a hand in your 
uncle’s death. Perhaps she had good reason for 
wishing him dead.” 

“ No, no,” he cried inwardly in defense of her, 
“ I won’t believe it. She never knew my uncle.” 
But the imp whispered with satanic triumph, 
“ What about the ring she is wearing? What 
about her portrait, eh?” 

To drown the maddening thoughts, Norris 
spoke aloud. “ You don’t think she killed him, 
do you?” he asked, dropping into a chair and 
burying his face in his hands. 

Mrs. Norris gazed at her son with troubled 
eyes, desirous only of comforting him. Mc- 
Kelvie, on the other hand, studied the fine, sensi¬ 
tive face of the chemist with judicious coolness. 
Sensing that an open discussion of the question 
would counteract the corroding influence of 
doubt, he replied kindly, “ No, Phil. I know 
she didn’t kill him. One does not have to be a 
physiognomist to know that, whatever she may 
have done, she has not murder on her soul.” 

“ ‘ Whatever she may have done,’ ” repeated 
Norris with the impatience of despair. “ That 
is tantamount to saying that she is a confederate, 
that she is hand and glove with the person who 
did kill my uncle.” 


WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


175 


McKelvie shrugged. “ She is undoubtedly 
connected with the affair in some way. She 
certainly supplied the criminal with the weapon. 
.And then there’s the ring. Look at the thing 
sensibly, Phil.” 

Norris raised a haggard face. “ Sensibly! 
When every fibre of my being cries out against 
the accusation?” he exclaimed. “ I love her, 
Mac.” 

The words slipped out unbidden, startling 
his mother. But in Norris’ heart there was 
peace. He understood now that he had always 
loved her, even from the moment when he had 
first seen her. 

For a space there was silence in the com¬ 
fortable room, broken only by the crackling of 
the burning logs within the grate. 

“ But, Graydon, why does Granya Howe have 
to be guilty?” inquired Mrs. Norris presently. 
“ Why couldn’t she have lost the dagger and the 
criminal have found it?” 

Norris flashed his mother a grateful glance 
but McKelvie only answered calmly, “ That 
would be too far-fetched a coincidence. Besides, 
her great-aunt lied this afternoon. She is shield¬ 
ing her niece. It was Miss Marietta Howe who 
was eavesdropping in the hall. The innocent do 
not require shielding.” 


176 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Perhaps not. But sometimes the unfortu¬ 
nate do,” responded Mrs. Norris quietly. 

At this point Norris, who had grasped at his 
mother’s suggestion and was clinging to it as 
to a life-belt, exclaimed, “ Of course, she lost 
the dagger. That’s the only plausible explana¬ 
tion of the circumstance. As for saying that 
Miss Marietta was eavesdropping! That’s a 
monstrous accusation for you to make, Mac. 
She is a lady. You talk like this because you 
have no faith in women. It’s all utter nonsense 
and I won’t be a party to it.” 

McKelvie smiled at the blue flames enig¬ 
matically, refusing to be drawn further into a 
discussion of his attitude. When Norris con¬ 
tinued, “ You have no proof. Granya’s word 
concerning the disposition of the dagger is, after 
all, as good as Kastamuni’s,” McKelvie merely 
looked satirical and remarked, “ That is an un¬ 
important detail. The thing that really matters 
is, who is Granya Howe?” 

“ Who is Granya Howe?” echoed Norris, 
thinking his friend had suddenly lost his reason. 
“ Eldredge Howe’s granddaughter, of course.” 

“ That’s what he claims,” retorted McKelvie 
unruffled. “ But the relationship does not bear 
the searchlight of truth. You see,” he ended 
dryly, “ Mr. Howe is, unfortunately, a bachelor.” 


WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


177 


“ What!” ejaculated Norris, dumbfoundedly; 
then added quickly on a sudden inspiration, 
“ She’s probably his adopted granddaughter.” 

McKelvie answered impatiently, “ Naturally, 
but that does not alter the original query. Who 
is Granya Howe?” 

Mrs. Norris was the first to catch the implied 
suggestion. “ Do you think she might be some 
relation to Jonas?” she asked. 

“ That’s just it. She may be. And that is 
the important thing for us to learn. That is 
why I want you to see her, Phil. She will no 
doubt confide in you.” 

“ Do you think that I would betray her con¬ 
fidence if she did give it to me?” demanded 
Norris indignantly. 

McKelvie laughed cynically. “ I had for¬ 
gotten that you were in love with her. I see that 
I shall have to learn her identity unaided.” 

Norris flushed angrily and Mrs. Norris inter¬ 
posed hastily, “ What did you learn from Mr. 
Agnew, Graydon?” 

“ He was engaged at the moment. I left word 
for him to call me here. By the way, Mrs. 
Norris., did Phil tell you that the watch that 
Gordon brought last night was claimed by Mr. 
Farrell, Arlita Farrell’s father?” 

“ Yes. I put it away in the desk for safe- 


178 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


keeping. Do you have to return it?” she asked, 
opening the desk and removing the watch. 

“ Since it is his, I suppose we must. It is of 
no value to us except as it might be connected 
with the crime.” McKelvie accepted the time¬ 
piece and snapped open the case. He examined 
the interior with his lens, took down the number 
and make, and finally removed a strand or two 
from the coil of hair. “ It’s useless to ask 
whether you recognize this watch?” 

Mrs. Norris smiled. “ If I had, I should have 
told you before. No, I don’t recognize it. You 
are not satisfied with Mr. Farrell’s identifica¬ 
tion?” 

McKelvie pocketed the watch, and laid the 
strand of hair in his wallet. “ Just a precaution, 
Mrs. Norris. All investigators are naturally 
suspicious of every one and everything.” 

“ Some one on the phone for you, sir,” re¬ 
marked the impersonal voice of Clive from the 
doorway. 

“ That must be Agnew. If you will pardon 
me for just a moment.” McKelvie hurried out 
into the hall, and entered the private phone 
booth near the stairs. In a few moments he was 
back again, his eyes sparkling animatedly. 

“ Well?” asked Norris. “ What did he have 
to say about the lock and hinges?” 


WHO IS GRANYA HOWE? 


179 


“ The lock was put on at Kastamuni’s request. 
Agnew says that when the box left his place the 
lock had not been tampered with.” 

“ I always knew the Jew was guilty,” Norris 
said triumphantly. 

“ That depends on whether he had a motive 
for the crime. I think we’ll have another talk 
with him about the case.” 

Norris groaned. “ I suppose he’ll tell you the 
truth? It’s all too impossible and too infernally 
slow to suit me. Isn’t there a quicker way of 
getting at an answer to the puzzle?” 

“ The cable from Paris. It should have 
reached my house by this time,” replied Mc- 
Kelvie. “ It’s from the past that we shall learn 
the motive for the crime.” 


CHAPTER XVI 
The Cable From Parts 

In the Subway McKelvie took Norris further 
into his confidence. “ I’m inclined to believe 
that so far we have only been scratching the 
surface in this affair. We have not yet dis¬ 
covered an adequate motive for the murder. 
To say that your uncle had enemies means 
nothing. Most men have enemies but the state¬ 
ment does not necessarily involve the commis¬ 
sion of crime.” 

“ But in this case it might,” Norris reminded 
him. “ Uncle Jonas declared that his enemies 
wanted to kill him.” 

“ He had been hiding for so long that he had 
become a monomaniac upon the subject. Since 
the crime was one of vengeance, he had good 
reason for his fear. Still the term ‘ enemy ’ 
hardly describes the criminal to my way of 
thinking. He or she — for of course it might 
have been a woman who conceived and carried 
out the deed — is some one whom your uncle 
had deeply wronged at some time before he went 
into seclusion.” 


180 


THE CABLE FROM PARIS 181 


“ But whom? If I know anything of Uncle 
Jonas, he probably wronged more than one per¬ 
son in the course of his career. Eldredge Howe 
was one of these unfortunates, yet I should 
hardly suspect him of having murdered my 
uncle.” 

“ The old gentleman is astute. And he was 
near the scene of the crime at the time of its 
commission, so that he might be a confederate. 
He could not have been the criminal since he 
was on the wrong side of the wall,” reflected 
McKelvie. “ He might have tampered with the 
lock of that wooden box.” 

“ I’d be more inclined to distrust the Jew 
than Eldredge Howe,” responded Norris. 

“ So would I. Before we go to Stuyvesant 
Square we’ll have another talk with Kastamuni. 
He’s going to tell us this time all he knows, 
including the reason for Granya’s call this morn¬ 
ing.” 

Before confronting the antique dealer, how¬ 
ever, McKelvie stopped to despatch the watch 
by messenger to Farrell. 

“ Why don’t you deliver it in person?” asked 
Norris curiously, wondering whether there was 
some definite motive for the act. 

“ I have too much to engross my attention 
at present. When I definitely connect him with 


182 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


your uncle will be time enough to question him.” 

In the dim, octagonal shop figures moved 
ghost-like through the gloom, silent worshippers 
in that temple of beauty. Kastamuni greeted 
the young men with a coldly hostile glance. 
Reluctantly at McKelvie’s suggestion he led 
them to a secluded recess. 

“Why do you persist in annoying me?” he 
asked plaintively. “ I have told all I know — 
which is nothing. I have no more to say.” 

“ Mr. Kastamuni,” said McKelvie severely, 
“ I have learned a number of strange facts con¬ 
cerning you since I was here this morning. In 
the first place, you claimed at the inquest that 
you had not sold the mummy case to the mur¬ 
dered man. You know very well that was a 
quibble. Since Jonas Fielding’s servant posed 
as Mr. Kramer, your pretended innocence is of 
no avail.” 

Into the beady eyes of the Jew crept a look 
of fear. “ But I did not know that,” he cried 
out in alarm. “ I did not know that. How can 
I be responsible for what I did not know?” 

McKelvie looked skeptical. “ So you say. 
How do I know you are speaking the truth?” 

The Jew beat his breast with his fists. “ It is 
the truth. By all the prophets, I swear it. That 
policeman will arrest Aie if he hears of this.” 


THE CABLE FROM PARIS 183 


Cunning replaced the look of panic. “ If I tell 
you what you wish to know, will you tell the 
police that I am innocent?” 

“ If you can convince me of the truth of that 
statement, I’ll go surety for you if you get into 
trouble,” agreed McKelvie. “ But you’ll have 
to convince me first.” 

The Jew lifted his hands. “ How can I con¬ 
vince you, if you do not wish to believe?” he 
asked. 

“ I’m not quite so pig-headed as that,” re¬ 
sponded McKelvie lightly. 

“ What do you want to know?” 

“ You ordered lock and hinges put on one of 
the wooden mummy case receptacles. Why?” 

“ Because Mr. Kramer expressly asked me 
to.” 

“ When the cases were delivered to you, did 
you examine them?” 

“ Yes.” Kastamuni added quite candidly, “ I 
examined the cases when Agnew & Co. received 
them and, finding they were what I wanted, I 
had them sent to me here. I examined them 
again here, to see that I got what I bought. 
They were just as I had seen them before.” 

“ Was the lock of the type that was easily 
removable?” 

“ Yes. It was set into the wood the way 


184 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


a lock on a desk is set in. It could be lifted out 
very easily.” 

“ Did any one besides yourself see these 
cases?” 

“ Quite a few persons. I had them in my 
shop for a day or two before they were de¬ 
livered,” responded the Jew. 

“ With what object?” 

“ Mr. Howe didn’t want his delivered until 
he returned from a trip and there was no sense 
in having the expressman twice. The more there 
is to send out, the cheaper Coster makes the 
rate.” 

“ One more question. I called you on the 
phone about an hour or so ago and told you that 
Mr. Howe desired you to return the Egyptian 
dagger he had loaned you the day before-” 

The dealer broke in angrily. “ I said then 
and I repeat. Mr. Howe never sent me the 
dagger and he needn’t try to throw blame on 
me when he knows himself he never sent it.” 

“ What do you mean?” demanded McKelvie. 

“ His granddaughter was in here this morn¬ 
ing. When I asked her what she wanted she 
said, £ I have come to tell you that my grand¬ 
father is very angry with you and refuses to lend 
you the dagger.’ ” 

“ What then?” put in Norris hastily. 



THE CABLE FROM PARIS 185 


The Jew smiled craftily. “ I wasn’t to be 
caught napping, young sir. That policeman — 
Williams — had showed me the dagger early 
that morning. I was afraid to say anything for 
fear he’d arrest me. I pretended I had never 
seen it before. So I was quite ready for her. 
When I told her what I knew, she begged me 
to say nothing to Mr. Howe about it. Then 
she ran out and drove away. Not a thing more 
did she say though I tried to get her to ex¬ 
plain.” 

Norris recalled the scene he had witnessed 
when Granya had left the Jew gesticulating on 
the sidewalk. The memory brought a smile and 
a revival of hope. He refused to admit that 
Granya could be other than a helpless victim 
caught in the web woven around his uncle. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Kastamuni. You have been 
of material assistance to me,” said McKelvie 
as they were leaving. 

The dealer plucked him by the sleeve. 
“ About that other matter. You won’t forget?” 
he insisted. 

“ No, I won’t forget. Williams shall learn 
nothing from me about you,” answered McKel¬ 
vie laughingly. “ Don’t worry, no one’s going 
to harm you.” 

“ How does the prospect strike you now, 


186 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Phil?” McKelvie broke the silence which had 
lasted between them for several blocks. 

“ A trifle brighter. Granya lost the dagger. 
She was afraid to confess as much to her grand¬ 
father and took measures to conceal the fact,” 
Norris explained. 

“ Humph. That girl is not afraid of her 
grandfather, Phil. The matter goes deeper than 
a mere lost dagger.” 

They approached Stuyvesant Square from 
Sixteenth Street. In the enclosed park the gaunt 
trees limned themselves against the distant sky, 
framed in on either side by the snow-capped 
roofs of the stark and ugly houses that strag¬ 
gled unevenly toward the river. McKelvie’s 
home with its red-brick fagade was the only 
spot of color in the snow-heaped Square. 

They mounted the steps and McKelvie ad¬ 
mitted Norris with his latchkey. A bright fire 
was burning in the study, casting a pleasant 
warmth over the room and touching gently the 
shabby old furnishings; revealing only its beauty 
in grain and wood, kindly concealing shadows 
effacing its age-old decrepitude. On the central 
table, propped against the unlighted lamp, was 
the cable from Paris. 

McKelvie opened the envelope eagerly. Drag¬ 
ging a ponderous tome from a shelf filled with 


THE CABLE FROM PARIS 187 


scientific and criminological volumes, he dropped 
into his morris chair near the hearth to decipher 
the message. Norris wandered about restlessly 
wondering what new revelation was in store for 
him. 

He had had time to imagine every conceivable 
solution to the question of Granya’s identity 
when McKelvie finally looked up from his 
seemingly endless labor. His eyes were glowing 
like the coals in the grate. 

“ The Parisian police are jewels of efficiency. 
Listen to this, Phil.” 

From the pleased inflection of the rich voice 
Norris divined that the information had proved 
worth while. He sank wearily into a chair 
while McKelvie read aloud the result of his 
efforts. 

“ Police report on Jonas Timothy Fielding 
(name Faraday not known). Last seen in 
Paris six years ago. At that time about fifty- 
five years of age, of middle height, slender, 
clean shaven, with greying hair and deep-set 
blue eyes. Jonas Timothy Fielding involved in 
a scandal ten years ago. Eloped with wife of 
Andrew Howe, adopted son of noted Egypt¬ 
ologist. Police believe Fielding responsible for 
death of Andrew Howe. Nothing definite 
proved. Fielding married widow. Four years 


188 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


later Fielding left Paris with wife. Wife re¬ 
turned three years later under name of Arlita 
Farrell. Won fame as dancer for two years. 
Taken then to America by Hirshkoff to play 
title role in musical comedy, 1 The Cute Little 
Sinner/ Fielding not seen or heard of in that 
time.” 

“ Is that all?” inquired Norris when McKel- 
vie paused. 

“ In my humble opinion that is quite a good 
deal,” responded McKelvie, folding the cable 
and placing it in his wallet. 

“ Nothing relative to Granya?” 

McKelvie sighed comically, “ Nothing. The 
French police are so very efficient that they 
never tell you too much or too little. I asked 
only for information concerning your uncle’s 
affairs.” 

“ He seems to have been a pretty blackguard. 
I can’t say that I am exactly sorry he is dead.” 
Norris brooded with his eyes on the flames. “ I 
don’t wonder that Eldredge Howe is bitter 
against him,” he added presently. 

“ We have been supplied for the first time 
with a definite motive for the crime. I told you 
that revenge would be the factor. Eldredge 
Howe himself may have engineered the whole 
scheme.” 


THE CABLE FROM PARIS 


189 


“ Are you going to let Williams see that 
cable ?” 

“ No. Williams can get information for him¬ 
self. Besides he would only spoil my game by 
arresting Howe. The old gentleman may be 
guiltless. He certainly gave that impression. 
Still he is shrewd and may have been building 
a clever superstructure of apparent innocence.” 

“ And Granya?” 

“ Frankly, she puzzles me. She can’t be 
Arlita Farrell’s daughter.” 

“ No,” agreed Norris. “ Arlita Farrell is not 
more than twenty-seven or eight and Granya 
must be twenty.” 

“ I was not thinking of the question of age. 
If Granya had been Arlita Farrell’s daughter, 
I doubt very much whether Eldredge Howe 
would have adopted her. He is the sort of man 
who would hate cordially any one connected 
with the disgrace to his name, whether guilty or 
innocent.” 

“ You don’t suppose that Eldredge Howe — 
assuming that he is guilty — would use 
Granya?” began Norris. 

“ He might, especially if he pointed out that 
she was helping to avenge her father — provided 
that Andrew Howe is her father.” 

Norris sighed impatiently. “ The whole case 


190 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 

is nothing but ‘ ifs.’ Is there no way of arriv¬ 
ing at some definite conclusion ?” 

“ None, I’m afraid, until we have a chance to 
talk to Fordney,” returned McKelvie thought¬ 
fully. 

“ What about Arlita Farrell?” 

“ I was just wondering. Could you stand 
another dose of ‘ The Cute Little Sinner ’?” 

“ I can stand anything to end this suspense.” 
“ Meet me at the theater then, at eight 
o’clock.” 


CHAPTER XVII 
Hirshkoff’s Find 

Eight o’clock found Norris impatiently pacing 
the lobby of the theater where McKelvie had 
promised to meet him. He wished now that he 
had not been so complaisant. He had no desire 
to meet Arlita Farrell. The fact that she had 
been his uncle’s wife only made matters worse. 
What the devil, he asked himself moodily, was 
the reason for his uncle’s possession of that 
portrait of Granya Howe? 

“ I’m only ten minutes late,” remarked a 
familiar voice in mock pleading. “ Please don’t 
flay me alive. You look like a thunder-cloud, 
Phil. What’s troubling you?” 

“ Nothing. I was only wishing-” 

“ That you might be somewhere else. Per¬ 
haps I can gratify your desire,” broke in Mc¬ 
Kelvie seriously. “ I was late because I was 
delayed in obtaining some information relative 
to Granya Howe. It’s imperative that we learn 
her true identity. She is attending a dance with 
a crowd of young people at the home of the 
Van Dusens. The party is an impromptu affair 
and will break up with a supper at Trent’s.” 

191 



192 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Where did you get this information?” asked 
Norris jealously. Young Peter Van Dusen was 
one of the season’s best matrimonial catches. 

“ Never mind. It is sufficient that I have 
good authority for what I am telling you. If 
you will simply follow directions and ask no 
questions, I think I can arrange for you to meet 
Granya Howe sometime during the evening. In 
the meantime, I have just fifteen minutes to 
speak to Arlita Farrell.” 

McKelvie presented his tickets at the door, 
whispered something to the usher, and sped 
down the side aisle to a curtained entrance which 
bore in heavy black letters the warning, “ No 
Admittance.” 

McKelvie parted the curtains, crossed a pas¬ 
sageway and mounted the wooden steps that led 
back-stage. Norris, following blindly found 
himself in a new world of painted scenes and 
canvas houses where illusion took the place of 
stark reality. 

Several scene-shifters looked up curiously 
from their tasks as the young men crossed the 
stage, but no one attempted to bar their progress. 
A turn to the right and McKelvie paused before 
a door marked with a large black star. He lifted 
his hand to knock and remained arrested in the 
act. 


HIRSHKOFF’S FIND 


193 


In the deeper shadows of the passage a young 
man was standing, a young man in evening- 
dress who eyed them with a bored expression on 
his handsome, boyish face. 

“ A stage Johnny?’’ whispered Norris as Mc- 
Kelvie drew him out of sight behind a shelter¬ 
ing prop. 

“ No. Peter Van Dusen. What the dickens 
is he doing here?” McKelvie frowned as he 
peered at the young clubman. “ He acts as 
though he were waiting for some one. He’s 
surely not going to miss-” 

Norris failed to hear the rest of the sentence. 
The door of the star’s dressing-room swung open, 
revealing the slender figure and auburn curls of 
Granya Howe as she stood, one hand on the 
knob of the door, half-turned toward the in¬ 
visible occupant of the room. 

“ I am speaking as a friend, my dear,” came 
in drawling accents the sweet, husky voice of 
Arlita Farrell. “ Don’t, under any circum¬ 
stances, do anything so foolish again.” 

“ I won’t, indeed I won’t. Why are you so 
kind to me?” asked Granya Howe softly. 

“ I am not kind. You wouldn’t understand, 
if I told you. Go, now, please,” replied the voice. 

Granya Howe shut the door behind her slowly. 
“ Peter,” she called. “ Where are you?” 



194 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


The young man emerged from the shadows 
and offered the girl his arm. “ Ready to go 
now, Granya? Why, you’re actually tremb¬ 
ling.” His voice grew roughly tender. “ What 
did that woman want of you, anyhow?” 

“ Nothing, Peter. I — I’m all right. If we 
don’t hurry, we’ll be frightfully late for the 
dance.” 

When the sound of their steps had died away, 
McKelvie walked out into the passage. 

“ I’m hanged if I can figure out what this 
move means. The more we learn, the more 
tangled this case grows. What’s your opinion, 
Phil?” 

Norris had no opinion. He was too stunned 
and bewildered to think clearly. McKelvie, the 
investigator, was intrigued by the acquaintance 
between Arlita Farrell and Granya Howe. Nor¬ 
ris, being very much in love, cared only for the 
fact that Granya had seemed on very friendly 
terms with Peter Van Dusen. 

At McKelvie’s postponed knock, the door was 
opened by a trim maid. McKelvie presented his 
card. 

“ Tell your mistress that the matter is very 
urgent.” 

A moment later the two men were admitted to 
the star’s presence. She greeted them coldly. 


HIRSHKOFF’S FIND 


195 


“ I can spare but five minutes,” she said, glanc¬ 
ing from one to the other. 

McKelvie introduced himself and his friend. 
Norris, who had seen this young woman in her 
stellar role, was surprised to find that she was 
not so beautiful off the stage as on. Her face 
was too white, her lips too red, her hair too 
dead and lustreless a black. Yet there was a 
certain lure about her, the sort that would appeal 
to a man like his uncle. 

While Norris studied the star, McKelvie ex¬ 
plained the reason for their call. “ You can 
understand, then, why Mr. Norris is so anxious 
to solve this murder,” he added. “ As Mr. 
Fielding’s wife, you should be able to give us 
valuable information concerning your husband’s 
past life.” 

Her eyes, the color of agate, hard and cold, 
fixed themselves on McKelvie’s face. “ You 
must be laboring under a delusion. I have never 
been married. Nor for that matter had I ever 
heard of Mr. Fielding before reading of his 
murder in the papers.” 

McKelvie was nonplussed. He could not very 
well contradict her. It was possible that the 
Parisian police had made a mistake. He tried a 
different tack. 

“ If I have inadvertently mistaken you for 


196 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


some one else, I trust you will pardon me. I met 
your father at the inquest and was instrumental 
in returning to him the watch he had lost. Do 
you know whether it was delivered to him?” 

“ Yes, thank you.” She smiled. In the unex¬ 
pected charming curve of those scarlet lips there 
was a witchery that set men mad and a mystery 
which bound them to her side. In such a 
moment she was irresistible and a man would 
gladly commit all the crimes in the calendar for 
her sake. 

Both men felt the influence of that smile and 
both strove to shake it off. McKelvie said 
sternly, “ Were you not at one time acquainted 
with Andrew Howe?” 

The question banished all trace of witchery. 
There was no charm about her face now. It 
was cold and unfeeling as she replied, “ Again 
you are mistaken. I did not know any one by 
that name.” 

“ How is it, then, that you are so friendly with 
his daughter, Granya?” McKelvie shot at her. 

A cold stare and a lift of the pencilled eye¬ 
brows. “ Really, you carry your impertinence 
too far. I am under no obligation to answer any 
of your questions.” 

“ You prefer the notoriety of answering before 
the coroner?” 


HIRSHKOFF’S FIND 


197 


Her expression changed, but so rapid was her 
recovery of her cold, poised manner that only 
McKelvie’s watchful eyes saw the flicker of fear 
in the glance she directed toward him. 

“ I have no reason to appear at the inquest, 
nor am I at all interested in that proceeding. 
However, I am willing to say this much to oblige 
you. If you are speaking of the girl who was 
in here a while ago, I can assure you that she is 
a perfect stranger to me and that, if her name is 
Howe, I did not know it until this moment. 
Now, if you will excuse me, I think you have 
trespassed long enough upon my time.” 

After that there was nothing left for the two 
young men to do but depart. McKelvie’s face 
expressed the chagrin he felt. Norris was 
amused at their abrupt dismissal. 

“ I bungled that badly. I might have known 
she would tell me nothing. I should have been 
prepared with proofs,” remarked McKelvie, 
shaking his head dismally. “ That was stupid 
of me.” 

“ Why didn’t you show her the cable?” 

“ The police report may be in error. It’s 
hardly likely to prove so, but one can’t be too 
careful about accusing innocent persons. I 
should have talked to Hirshkoff first before 
tackling the lady. Having made a mess of 


198 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


things, we’ll try to remedy matters by hearing 
what her producer has to say about her.” 

Having secured Hirshkoff’s address from the 
box office, they drove to their destination in 
somber silence. The only time they spoke was 
when Norris roused himself to ask, “ Do you 
think that Granya really was a stranger to her?” 
and McKelvie replied glumly, “ I don’t know.” 

The taxi deposited them before the entrance 
of an imposing apartment house on East Ninety- 
third Street. The uniformed attendant, after 
making due inquiries by telephone, directed 
them to the fifth floor where an inscrutable Jap 
admitted them to a tastefully furnished library, 
announcing them in the monotone of the trained 
servant. 

From the depths of a leather arm-chair, Hirsh- 
koff rose to meet them. The great producer was 
a dapper little man with a shrewd, intelligent 
countenance and a quick, nervous manner of 
speech. 

“What can I do for you, sir?” he inquired 
politely of McKelvie. 

McKelvie explained his errand. 

“ What can I tell you about Arlita Farrell?” 
repeated Hirshkoff, hospitably indicating a box 
of cigars. “ Only just what she sees fit to give 
out, neither more nor less.” 


HIRSHKOFF’S FIND 


199 


“1 understand.” McKelvie accepted the in¬ 
vitation to smoke by producing his gold cigarette 
case. “I’m not partial to cigars,” he remarked, 
as he offered Norris the case, but the latter 
declined. 

“ You discovered her in Paris,” McKelvie con¬ 
tinued. “ Before you engaged her to play the 
lead in your musical comedy you naturally made 
inquiries about her.” 

“ Naturally,” conceded Hirshkoff. 

“ I have reason to believe that she is in some 
way connected with the murder I am investigat¬ 
ing. Not as a principal,” as the producer made 
a gesture of dissent, “ but sufficiently concerned 
to prove a valuable witness. Neither you nor 
she, I should imagine, are anxious for notoriety 
of the sort involved in summoning her before the 
coroner.” 

“ Decidedly not.” Hirshkoff took several 
quick puffs at his cigar. “ Do I understand that 
unless I tell you what I know you will ask Miss 
Farrell to testify at the inquest?” 

“ I have no other option in the matter, Mr. 
Hirshkoff,” replied McKelvie quietly. 

“You put me in a difficult position, Mr. 
McKelvie,” said Hirshkoff presently. “ What 
little I know was told me for a particular 
reason.” He hesitated, then added with an air 


200 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


of conscious triumph, “ Last night Miss Farrell 
promised to become my wife and she disclosed 
her history because she felt I was entitled to 
a knowledge of the facts.” 

“ In that event, of course, I cannot ask you 
to betray a confidence,” returned McKelvie. 
“ If I had known this, I should not have taken 
up your time.” 

Hirshkoff waved him back to his chair. 
“ There is no need for such hurry. I am sure 
that if Arlita were here she would want me to 
speak rather than risk notoriety. I ask only one 
thing. Can you assure me that what I tell you 
will not be published in the papers?” 

“ Yes. Neither of us is connected with the 
police or the press. Whatever you divulge will 
be considered of a confidential nature unless the 
information is of such a character that justice 
demands its disclosure.” 

Hirshkoff sank back with a relieved smile. 
“ There is nothing that reflects against Miss 
Farrell in any form. She is the daughter of 
John Thurston Farrell and resides in Gramercy 
Park East with her father. Six years ago she 
inherited some money from an old creditor of 
her father’s. She employed the money to further 
her ambition. Three years she spent in study 
with various masters before she appeared in 


HIRSHKOFF’S FIND 


201 


Paris where she was all the rage (for her daring 
as much as for her dancing) until I induced her 
to come with me in my production. The show 
has been running a year and it is just as popular 
as when it first opened on Broadway. 

“ All this, of course, is common property,” he 
continued between puffs of his cigar. “ Now I 
come to the more personal element. It seems 
that Mr. Farrell was in the penitentiary for a 
number of years.” 

“ Ah,” interrupted McKelvie, “ that explains 
the deadness of his skin. What was the charge 
against him?” 

“ Embezzlement, I think. At least that was 
what was hinted and I did not like to appear too 
inquisitive. Besides, what is the use of raking 
up old skeletons? I like Mr. Farrell. I care 
really nothing for what he may have done in 
the past.” 

“ How long was he in prison?” 

“ I don’t know. Quite a few years I believe.” 

“ Who was the creditor who made Miss Far¬ 
rell his legatee?” 

“ A man by the name of Andrew Howe,” 
replied Hirshkoff with engaging frankness. 


CHAPTER XVIII 
The Supper Party 

On the heels of Hirshkoff’s reply followed a 
long pause. Both McKelvie and Norris were 
recalling Arlita Farrell’s denial of all knowledge 
of Andrew Howe. 

“ Are you positive about that name?” asked 
McKelvie breaking the hiatus. 

“ Yes, I am quite sure that was the name she 
gave me. He had owed her father money for a 
good many years and they never expected to 
get it back. When he died he bequeathed his 
entire property to her. I suppose he thought 
that she would make better use of it than her 
father.” 

McKelvie rose. “ Thank you. I don’t sup¬ 
pose that it will be at all necessary for me to use 
the information you have given me. At any rate, 
I shall give Miss Farrell a chance to tell me 
the truth herself.” 

“ I wish you would. I am sure she will not 
object when the circumstance is explained to her. 
If I can be of service in any other way, you know 
where to find me.” 


202 


THE SUPPER PARTY 


203 


“ Thank you. Good evening, Mr. Hirshkoff,” 

“ Good evening, gentlemen,” responded the 
producer, bowing them out. 

“ So/’ commented McKelvie when they 
reached the sidewalk. “ The wind is change¬ 
able. First it blows hard from one quarter, 
then from another. I must try to find out some¬ 
thing about Andrew Howe.” He hailed a pass¬ 
ing taxi and gave the address of the theater 
from which they had come. 

“ Are you going back to interview Arlita Far¬ 
rell again?” inquired Norris, surprised. 

“ No. There is no point in supping at Trent’s 
before eleven. We might as well kill time at the 
theater as anywhere.” 

McKelvie had bought box seats. As it hap¬ 
pened they had the loge to themselves. Norris, 
who had seen the show, sat back in the shadows 
and revolved in his mind the day’s accumulation 
of evidence. 

They had done so much since morning, inter¬ 
viewed so many different persons, heard so many 
contradictory versions, that his brain was utterly 
fagged with the effort to straighten out the 
confused mass of testimony within his grasp. 
He tried to sort the facts as one sorts the 
jumbled pieces of some complicated puzzle. 
Presently he gave up the attempt and turned to 


204 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


his companion who was enjoying himself hugely. 

Norris marvelled at his friend’s ability to 
detach his mind so completely from the affair on 
hand, and said so. 

“ The instinct of self-preservation, Phil,” 
responded the other, his eyes on the stage. “ I 
have learned the trick of snapping off the cur¬ 
rent of my thoughts and turning them at will 
into new channels that I may retain my sanity. 
I have discovered through bitter experience that 
no good can come from wearing down one’s 
reserve trying to fathom the unfathomable. 
Tomorrow’s investigation may clear up much 
that is now obscure.” 

“ That’s all well and good for you,” muttered 
Norris. “ You look at the affair cold-bloodedly 
from a scientific standpoint. Whereas I — well, 
I shall never know another moment’s peace until 
I learn the truth about Granya Howe.” 

“ She’s a petite little thing,” was the absent 
answer as Arlita Farrell appeared for the third 
time before the curtain to receive her nightly 
ovation. “ Quite engaging from this distance, 
although I don’t think I should fancy being her 
husband. Her eyes are too hard. Life to her 
is a sordid affair, a matter of dollars and cents 
very likely.” 

Norris leaned forward to watch, observed 


THE SUPPER PARTY 


205 


Arlita Farrell fling a kiss toward the third box 
from the stage and turned to see whom she had 
thus honored. With a courtly bow the tall, dis¬ 
tinguished occupant of the box acknowledged 
the salute. As the favored one resumed his seat, 
Norris recognized John Thurston Farrell. 

“ Some one remarked a while ago that he 
comes every night as regularly as clock-work to 
receive that kiss with its attendant round of 
applause,” murmured McKelvie. “ Poor chap! 
After his years of confinement even this pitiful 
measure of adulation is balm to his starved soul.” 

It was nearing eleven when McKelvie sug¬ 
gested departure. At the entrance to the theater 
he paused long enough to put a question to the 
doorman. 

“ Was Mr. Farrell at the theater last night 
and the night before?” inquired McKelvie. 

“ Yes, sir. He hasn’t missed a night since the 
show was opened. Comes at eight-thirty and 
leaves at eleven,” replied the man, with an 
indulgent smile. “ Taxi, sir?” 

“ Yes. Tell the driver to drop us at Trent’s.” 
McKelvie thanked the doorman with a generous 
tip. 

As the taxi threaded its way slowly through 
the maze of theater traffic on Broadway, McKel¬ 
vie remarked with a twinkle, “ If I must, I must. 


206 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Go ahead and talk if you want to, Phil. What’s 
troubling you now.” 

Norris smiled wearily. “ Everything. Do 
you intend to speak to Granya tonight?” 

“ Certainly. She cannot involve herself in the 
mystery and expect immunity from investiga¬ 
tion.” 

“ Don’t forget that she is innocent.” 

“ That remains to be proved, my friend,” re¬ 
torted McKelvie, coolly. 

Norris had never dined at Trent’s but he knew 
the place by reputation as a high-class restaurant 
of all but prohibitive prices, patronized almost 
exclusively by the younger members of certain 
families whose names had long graced the pages 
of New York’s social register. 

At McKelvie’s request an obsequious waiter 
conducted them to a secluded table where they 
could observe all that passed without appearing 
too flagrantly curious. In the opposite mirror 
Norris caught a fleeting glimpse of Granya’s 
clear-cut profile. Casually he glanced across 
the dining-room. 

Under the tropical verdure of palm and 
banana tree a dozen or so youngsters were hold¬ 
ing high carnival, entertained by the antics of 
one of the group who held himself a wit. Norris 
ignored the crowd and had eyes only for Granya 


THE SUPPER PARTY 


207 


seated at the head of the table beside Peter 
Van Dusen. 

Unconsciously the chemist noted how exactly 
her silk gown matched her eyes, eyes that showed 
too plainly the effort she was making to appear 
unconcerned. Though she laughed with the rest, 
her mind was not on her surroundings. As the 
supper progressed she became more distrait. 
Several times Van Dusen had to awaken her 
to a sense of her obligations when she would 
rouse herself to be entertaining for a few mo¬ 
ments and then lapse into an unaccustomed 
silence again. 

Norris sighed. He wished he had the right 
to comfort her, to stand between her and what¬ 
ever was making her unhappy. 

When the party showed signs of breaking up, 
McKelvie pencilled a few lines on his card and 
called the waiter. 

“ Will you give this to the young lady in the 
blue dress at the head of that table, please,” 
he requested. 

Norris, watching apprehensively, saw Granya 
read the message with a puzzled frown — saw 
Van Dusen take the card from her fingers and ex¬ 
amine it critically. There was a whispered con¬ 
ference between them — a wordy argument in 
which the girl carried the day. Van Dusen 


208 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


moodily sped his parting guests who trailed out 
hilariously. 

When only Granya and her host were left, 
sitting solitary amidst the remnants of the feast, 
McKelvie and Norris rose leisurely from their 
table and crossed the restaurant to Van Dusen’s 
side. When greetings and introductions were 
over, Granya spoke softly. 

“ You wished to speak to me about — about 
something of importance?” she asked, looking 
from Norris to McKelvie with wondering eyes in 
which there was the merest trace of uneasiness. 

“ I’d much prefer to talk to you alone, Miss 
Howe, if I may,” replied McKelvie significantly. 

Van Dusen interrupted violently. “ I promised 
Miss Marietta Howe to keep Granya with me 
all evening. Whatever you have to say, will 
be said in my presence or not at all.” 

McKelvie shrugged. “ As you please,” he 
said, indifferently. 

Granya exclaimed indignantly, “ Really, 
Peter, you are absurd. I am perfectly capable 
of taking care of myself.” She met Norris’ 
troubled glance and read his message. “I think, 
Peter, that you had better leave us alone.” 

Van Dusen scowled. “ I promised your aunt 
-” he began stubbornly. 

Granya broke in impatiently, “ I don’t care. 



THE SUPPER PARTY 


209 


If you’re so suspicious, sit down at that next 
table where you can watch our every gesture. 
I’m sorry, Peter,” contritely as he flushed 
angrily. “ I didn’t mean that.” 

She put her hand on his arm and the tears 
came to her eyes. “ Forgive me. I’m upset. I 
— I don’t know what I’m saying.” 

“ Will it make you any happier to talk to these 
gentlemen alone?” asked Van Dusen, covering 
the little hand with his own. 

She nodded. 

“ All right. I’ll be back in ten minutes.” He 
took his hat and coat and strolled off in the 
direction of the door. 

Norris, who had been miserably conscious of 
Van Dusen’s proprietary manner, heaved a sigh 
of relief. He drew his chair closer and spoke in 
a low tone. 

“ I’m sorrier than I can tell you for having 
distressed you. Please believe that I am your 
friend and that my only desire is to aid you.” 

She rewarded him with a smile that softened 
adorably the lovely mouth. Then she turned to 
McKelvie. “ What was it that you wanted of 
me?” 

“ I presume you are aware of the fact that I 
am investigating the murder of Mr. Norris’ 
uncle?” inquired McKelvie seriously. 


210 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Yes.” Her eyes widened perceptibly. She 
glanced quickly at Norris, then down in her lap. 

“ The crime was committed with your grand¬ 
father’s Egyptian dagger. This afternoon he 
told me that he had given the dagger to you to 
deliver to Kastamuni, the dealer in antiques. 
If you will recollect, Mr. Howe asked you in my 
presence whether you had delivered the dagger. 
You were very emphatic in your assurance. 
Now Kastamuni claims that he did not receive 
the weapon. Miss Howe, think a moment. Are 
you sure you are not mistaken in saying you 
gave the Jew the dagger?” 

She twisted the ring on her finger round and 
round. “ I am not mistaken,” she said at 
length, very low, while all the bright color 
drained slowly from her face. 

Both men said to themselves, “ For some 
reason she is not telling the truth;” Norris 
sadly, McKelvie curiously. 

“ Miss Howe,” McKelvie addressed her with 
grave deliberation, “ perhaps this side of the 
question has not occurred to you. If you did 
not deliver that dagger, by claiming that you did 
so, you put an innocent man in a false position. 
He will probably be accused and arrested for 
the crime.” 

She looked up then, startled. “ I hadn’t 


THE SUPPER PARTY 


211 


thought,” she murmured. “I — I had to say 
something when granddaddy asked me. I didn’t 
know that it would make trouble.” 

“ Then you didn’t deliver the dagger?” 

“ No. I — I lost it,” she whispered unhappily. 

Norris shot McKelvie a triumphant glance. 
“ What did I tell you?” was written plainly in 
his expressive eyes. 

“ Where did you lose it?” 

“I — don’t — know,” she faltered. 

“ You must have some idea. Was it near your 
home or in Gramercy Park?” 

She remained silent, her eyes downcast, her 
hands tightly clasped, her lips set in a stubborn 
line. McKelvie recognized the symptoms. He 
changed his plan of attack. 

“ That is a very curious ring you are wearing. 
May I see it, please?” 

Wonderingly, Granya glanced at McKelvie’s 
grave face. “ Why?” she asked, surprised. 

“ Just a whim of mine. I’m always interested 
in something that is a little out of the ordinary,” 
he replied quietly. 

Slowly she drew the ring off her finger and 
placed it in his outstretched hand. McKelvie 
examined it carefully and passed it to Norris. 

With sinking heart the chemist saw that he 
had been right in his assumption that this ring 


212 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


matched the scarfpin found on his uncle’s body. 
The three tiny clasped hands were identical in 
shape and size. The lettering in the motto, too, 
was the same. He glanced inside the heavy gold 
band, but there was nothing to show to whom 
the ring had originally belonged. Norris was 
certain that the ring was a man’s. 

“ Where did you get this ring?” inquired Mc- 
Kelvie as Norris returned the ring to Granya. 

“ It was my mother’s,” she answered. “ My 
father gave it to her when she was married.” 

“ Ah,” remarked McKelvie with a slight smile, 
“ here comes Mr. Van Dusen, punctual to the 
minute. One more question before he arrives. 
How long have you known Arlita Farrell?” 

“ How long?” echoed Granya. “ Why — why 
I don’t know her at all,” she said with an un¬ 
steady laugh. 

“ Then what were you doing in her dressing- 
room tonight?” he asked sternly. 

Sudden fear darkened the blue eyes. “ Are 
— are you — do you always know everything?” 
she faltered, with white lips. 

“ Unfortunately, not everything,” he assured 
her gravely. “ For instance, I don’t know why 
you went to see Miss Farrell.” 

The color came back with a rush to her 
blanched face. She drew in her breath sharply 


THE SUPPER PARTY 


213 


in a strangled half-sob, so great was her relief. 
She smiled tremulously, as Van Dusen joined 
them. 

“ Ready, Granya?” he demanded and 
promptly took possession of her. 

Norris was not to be outdone. He found the 
opportunity in the midst of the farewells to ask 
for and receive permission to call the next eve¬ 
ning. 

As the two men crossed the almost deserted 
restaurant, McKelvie smiled maliciously. “ I 
must say, Phil, that you’re not slow when once 
you get started. She must have been impressed 
by your many attractions to permit you to call 
so soon.” 

“ Talk sense, can’t you, Mac?” growled the 
other irritably. 

McKelvie laughed. “ You don’t seem elated 
at the prospect. What’s the matter? A case 
of funk?” 

“ No. This cursed crime. If only I knew 
what Granya has to do with it.” 

“ You don’t wish it any more fervently than 
I do,” sighed his companion. “ Hang it all, I 
wish women could be permanently eliminated 
from a murder investigation. They are always 
in it up to their ears, and not a thing will they 
tell you just because they have some foolish 


214 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


notion that they ought to keep silence. And 
chivalry forbids the third degree.” 

He broke off disgustedly as they emerged from 
the restaurant. Ahead of them a couple stood 
waiting for their car in the white glare of the 
fanlight. Norris recognized the dapper figure 
of the producer, Hirshkoff, and the white, cold 
profile of his musical comedy star. 

McKelvie passed them, appeared to recognize 
them, turned, bowed. Norris, following his 
friend’s example, restrained with difficulty an 
exclamation. Arlita Farrell was holding her cape 
loosely about her and in the bosom of her black 
dress, rising and falling with every breath she 
drew, was a gold brooch — three tiny hands 
joined in friendship’s clasp. Norris divined the 
motto that he could not see. 


CHAPTER XIX 


The Testimony of a Hair 

That night Norris slept poorly. McKelvie 
had refused absolutely to discuss the situation 
further, returning non-committal answers to all 
of the chemist’s questions concerning Granya 
Howe’s attitude and the significance of the 
brooch that Arlita Farrell had been wearing. 

It was not the star’s connection with the case 
that bothered Norris. Arlita Farrell meant noth¬ 
ing to him. His mind was entirely occupied with 
thoughts of Granya and what he had learned 
about her that day. He was tortured by jeal¬ 
ousy and doubt. 

In the first place he could not bear to recol¬ 
lect that Peter Van Dusen’s manner had been 
markedly proprietary. In the second place he 
did not like the idea that the Howes should have 
been as definitely involved in his uncle’s past 
affairs as the cable from Paris had indicated. 
He was obsessed by a feeling that only ill could 
come of any acquaintance with Jonas T. Fara¬ 
day, alias Fielding. 

There was always the ugly thought that if 

215 


216 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Eldredge Howe had planned the murder in re¬ 
venge, which McKelvie had suggested as a 
possibility, the Egyptologist might well have 
induced Granya to aid him. Norris did not want 
to believe that this lovely girl whom he had 
learned to love so quickly and so strangely could 
have lent herself to so vile a scheme. 

To offset this argument, however, there was 
the aspect that the Egyptologist had been very 
frank and that he had been very much aston¬ 
ished at the idea of Granya’s absence from home. 
The fact was backed, moreover, by the astound¬ 
ing circumstance of Miss Marietta Howe’s fear 
and her lie to protect Granya from the old gen¬ 
tleman’s wrath. 

Whereupon a more horrible supposition lifted 
a hydra head to torment him. Perhaps un¬ 
known to her brother, Miss Marietta had been 
the directing genius of the affair and it had been 
she who had used Granya as an instrument to 
carry out her plans for vengeance. 

At that point Norris sat up in bed in the dark 
and pushed the thought from him forcibly. He 
refused to harbor the idea further. 

Morning found the young chemist restless, 
tossed like a shuttlecock between the battle¬ 
dores of doubt and faith in Granya’s innocence. 
Not that his mistrust of the girl lessened his 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 217 


love for her: if anything, it made him desire all 
the more fiercely to take her away from the 
evil influence that apparently surrounded her. 
Most of all he wanted her to confide in him, 
not because McKelvie had suggested such a 
course, but because he could then be certain 
that she trusted him sufficiently to let him aid 
her. 

He made up his mind to observe her words 
and actions that evening when he called upon 
her. 

As he could not altogether neglect his work, 
Norris was obliged to phone McKelvie to go 
ahead in his investigations without him. Though 
he went dutifully to his office, Norris’ mind was 
not on his work, but entirely taken up with 
wondering what McKelvie was doing and what 
progress he was making and whether Williams 
had discovered Granya’s connection with the 
mystery. 

The chemist was thinking upon these ques¬ 
tions that afternoon as he worked in his labora¬ 
tory over a new formula which should have 
absorbed his entire attention. Presently through 
the thread of his thoughts was woven a deeper 
pattern, an audible rumbling that grew even 
louder and carried with it a conviction of famili¬ 
arity. 


218 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


He listened more attentively and finally 
placed those heavy tones as belonging to Wil¬ 
liams. What was the detective doing here in his 
office? Had he come to spy? 

With a flush of resentment Norris rose quickly 
and opened the door leading into the outer office. 
On the threshold he paused, astounded. Wil¬ 
liams was towering over the desk at which Miss 
Warner sat, his massive face thrust close to 
hers. He had evidently been putting her through 
something very like the third degree for she had 
cowered back from him and was dabbing her 
eyes with her handkerchief. 

The sight of his secretary’s frightened face 
roused Norris. He strode forward angrily, “ If 
you want information concerning my private 
affairs, Sergeant,” he said hotly, “ I’m the one 
to apply to. I don’t confide in my secretary.” 

Miss Warner, with a last hasty dab of her 
handkerchief resumed her typing and Williams 
swung around with a gruffly genial, “ Good 
afternoon, Mr. Norris. I was just inquiring for 
you.” 

Norris’ eyes expressed their contempt. “ What 
for?” he demanded quickly, suspiciously. 

“ I came around to find out what you want 
done with the body of your uncle. We haven’t 
any further use for it.” 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 219 


For a moment Norris was taken aback. He 
had forgotten that his uncle would have to be 
buried. Like a vision in another life came the 
memory of his oath. His fingers mechanically 
searched for and found the tiny vial his uncle 
had given him and which still reposed in the left- 
hand pocket of his vest. 

“ Would it be possible for me to seal the 
vault, Sergeant?” he asked. It was more with a 
view to easing his conscience than of fulfilling 
his promise that Norris put the question to the 
officer. 

Williams’ shrewd eyes scanned the young 
chemist’s face attentively as though suspecting 
a trap. But Norris’ expression was guileless in 
its very sincerity. 

“ Police seals are all the seals that will go on 
that vault until this murder is solved,” remarked 
the detective ponderously. “ What’s the idea, 
Mr. Norris?” 

Norris was too nervous and tired to explain. 
“ I’ll arrange for the funeral,” he said. After 
all, what did it matter where his uncle was 
buried? A man like Jonas Faraday deserved 
no particular consideration. 

Seeing that Norris made no move to return 
to his laboratory, Williams lumbered away dis¬ 
appointedly. Norris turned to his secretary. 


220 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ What did that detective want, Miss War¬ 
ner?” 

“ I don’t know. He was asking all kinds of 
questions about you,” answered the young 
woman. “ And when I — I wouldn’t answer, 
he — he threatened to arrest me.” She fell to 
weeping again. 

Tears distressed Norris. He had no idea how 
to cope with weeping women. His instinct was 
to flee. 

“ If he ever comes again, just call me,” he 
said hastily and retreated to his laboratory. 

But he couldn’t settle down to work again. 
Restlessly he paced the white-tiled floor. What 
did Williams’ visit portend? Had the seed of 
suspicion sprung like a beanstalk overnight into 
a robust vine of certainty? Was the detective 
toying with the idea of arresting him, he won¬ 
dered. 

Norris ran his fingers through his hair and a 
worried crease appeared between his eyes. To 
be sent to jail would not suit his book at all. 
He was not troubled at the thought of spending 
a few days in the Tombs. He was fretting be¬ 
cause his arrest would interfere with his plans 
for seeing Granya Howe. 

Unable to work, he decided to return home. 
Then it occurred to him that it might be as well 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 221 


to inform McKelvie of Williams’ movements; 
whereupon he drove over to Stuyvesant Square 
where he found McKelvie in conference with a 
bullet-headed, ferret-eyed man called Wilkins. 

McKelvie greeted Norris with a smile and 
made light of Williams and his notions. 

“ I won’t let him arrest you, Phil. I may 
need you myself before we clear up this mystery. 
Wilkins and I have had a busy morning. I have 
been sending wires to the police of every large 
city here and abroad in the hope of learning the 
reason for Farrell’s imprisonment.” 

“Why abroad?” interrupted Norris. “Why 
not New York?” 

“ Because there is no record of him here. I 
spent part of the morning at headquarters. As 
for cabling to the continent? His wife was 
French. He might easily have lived abroad.” 

“ I had forgotten. And what did Wilkins 
learn?” 

“ He was tracing the watch. Tell Mr. Norris 
what you found out, Wilkins,” ordered Mc¬ 
Kelvie. 

“ It ain’t much. At least it don’t lead no¬ 
where,” explained the bullet-headed one. “ I 
took the number to an old watchmaker that 
knows the game like a book. After a lot of 
phoning he said to try Tiffany’s. I skipped 


222 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


over there and set them all by the ears looking 
up old musty files. But we found it. The watch 
was bought twenty-five years ago, initialed and 
sent to a man by the name of John Thurston 
Farrell as a gift.” 

McKelvie said whimsically, “ Another thread 
snapped. The watch belongs to Farrell and the 
lock of hair is not Granya Howe’s.” 

“ How do you know that?” demanded Norris 
quickly. 

“ I compared the piece I kept with the girl’s 
own locks last night. They are the same shade 
but not the same texture. The hair in the watch 
is much finer.” 

“ Whose is it then?” 

“ We’d have to ask Farrell that question,” 
replied McKelvie with a shrug. “ Perhaps his 
wife’s; perhaps some one else’s. How should 
I know?” 

Norris broke the pause that followed. “ What 
are you going to do now?” 

“ I’m going to investigate the Howes 
thoroughly.” McKelvie smiled oddly. “ You 
notice that I am not asking you to help me, 
although I know that you will have a splendid 
chance for observation when you call on Miss 
Granya Howe tonight.” 

Norris replied with a sudden lightening of his 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 223 


sombre expression, “ Making a virtue of neces¬ 
sity, eh, Mac?” 

McKelvie laughed. “ Em going over in the 
direction of Gramercy Park. Want to come with 
me? The expedition might prove of profit.” 

Instead of stopping at Gramercy Park, how¬ 
ever, McKelvie had Norris drive him to Fourth 
Avenue, where they drew up before the empty 
house which stood directly back of the row in 
which Jonas Fielding had his home. This vacant 
house, a detached two-story frame building, was 
badly in need of repairs and the winter sunlight, 
revealing in all its stark ugliness the grimy win¬ 
dows and unswept steps, gave the place a forlorn 
and dismal aspect. 

Finding the weather-beaten front door securely 
locked, McKelvie made a circuit of the house, 
examining the basement windows. He was re¬ 
warded by discovering that a hole large enough 
to admit of the passage of a man’s hand had been 
cut in the pane of the rear window and that the 
window was unfastened. 

“ That hole has been cut with a diamond,” 
he remarked after inspecting the edge of the 
glass. “ Surely no burglar would take the 
trouble to break into an empty house.” He 
raised the sash and peered into the dim interior. 
“ Might as well have a look around.” McKelvie 


224 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


swung his feet over the sill of the narrow aper¬ 
ture and dropped. 

Norris, to whom the experience of breaking 
into a house in broad daylight was a new one, 
glanced about cautiously. He was startled to 
encounter a pair of bright eyes peeping at him 
from behind the muslin curtains of an upper 
story window in the opposite row. 

“ There’s some one watching us, Mac,” he 
warned. 

McKelvie called back with a chuckle, “ I have 
no objection. Come ahead, Phil. We have 
enough to worry over without troubling about 
inquisitive neighbors.” 

Without more ado Norris swung himself 
through the window and lowered it behind him. 
In the murky light that came through the dusty 
panes he made out that McKelvie was bending 
over an object that resembled a heap of brown 
sacking. 

“What have you got there?” he asked. 

“ See if you can open the basement door, 
Phil,” was McKelvie’s answer. “ A little more 
light would be very acceptable.” 

Norris crossed to the steps that led to the 
yard and mounted them. A rusty sliding catch 
which had been recently oiled secured the 
wooden door. Without much difficulty he shot 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 225 


back the bolt and pushed open the door. Then 
he turned expectantly and paused, too astonished 
to utter a word. 

A ray of sunlight had exposed to view the 
object of McKelvie’s scrutiny, the musty brown 
figure of the missing mummy. 

McKelvie touched the bundle of wrappings 
with his foot. 

“ I thought so. I had an idea we might find 
the missing mummy here.” 

Norris descended slowly. “ How did you de¬ 
duce that fact?” 

“ I made up my mind yesterday that the lock 
had been changed after Coster left the wooden 
box containing the mummy case in this back 
yard. In order to hide in the outer box, the 
criminal had first to dispose of the mummy and 
its coffin. What was easier than to utilize this 
vacant house?” 

A hasty search disclosed the gilded coffin, a 
replica of the one that Eldredge Howe had 
shown them with such pride, flung aside in one 
corner, scratched and scored, as though it had 
been thrown down with careless disregard of 
its value. 

“ Too bad,” said Norris as he examined the 
lid. “ I suppose Mr. Howe would give his right 
hand to own that coffin. For my part I can see 


226 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


no beauty in the thing. Are you going to 
leave it here?” 

“ Might as well. It is of no further value to 
us. Unless you want to remove it, Phil. I sup¬ 
pose that all your uncle’s belongings are now 
yours or your mother’s.” 

“ I don’t want the thing,” returned Norris 
hastily. “ It is too gruesome a reminder of the 
tragedy.” 

“ Strange how things work out,” continued 
McKelvie musingly as he searched the basement 
for further clues. “ The only person who seems 
to have had a motive for the crime is now cleared 
by the evidence of this coffin. Eldredge Howe is 
a true collector. His passion for Egyptian an¬ 
tiquities is such that he would sooner imperil 
his life than scratch even a corner of that 
mummy case. It is utterly unthinkable that he 
could have thrown that coffin in here so indif¬ 
ferently.” 

“ What about his sister?” asked Norris slowly. 
“ But, no, she is much too frail to have been 
able to handle this mummy case.” 

McKelvie glanced at Norris curiously. “ I 
thought the same myself a while ago. What 
particular reason have you for suspecting her?” 

“ None at all,” replied Norris quickly. “ Just 
my imagination running away with me. I’m 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 227 


getting so that I suspect everybody/’ he ended 
peevishly. 

McKelvie paused near the window through 
which they had entered. “ Hello, what’s this?” 
He picked up a tangled mass of clothes-line 
and held it out before him. 

In several places the rope was knotted as 
though it had been used to fasten some large 
object. The loose ends were frayed as though 
they had been severed by a jagged surface. 
These ends were also slightly stained with 
blood and in one of the knots a single auburn 
hair had become entangled. 

McKelvie carefully removed the hair and 
placed it in his wallet. “ Whoever cut that rope 
managed to injure himself, or more than likely 
herself. I wonder whether Granya Howe has a 
cut finger? That auburn hair is undoubtedly 
hers.” 

Before Norris could voice an indignant pro¬ 
test the basement was darkened by the unex¬ 
pected closing of the door. Both young men 
whirled simultaneously, as though moved by one 
common impulse, to see the bulky form of a 
policeman descending the steps. 

At the same instant a sharp, wizened face 
appeared at the window and a shrill, excited 
voice exclaimed, “ That’s them. Don’t let them 


228 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


escape. They’re sharp ones, Officer. I just 
know they’ll be murdering us in our beds next.” 

Norris, who did not relish the idea of being 
taken to court, drew back into the shadows. 
The situation, however, appeared to amuse Mc- 
Kelvie. He took a couple of steps toward the 
policeman, slipping his hands nonchalantly into 
his overcoat pockets as he moved. 

The policeman, who could not distinguish 
features in the vague light and who was taking 
no chances, drew his gun and roared, “ Hands 
up or I’ll shoot.” 

“ Really, Gordon,” said McKelvie in a pained 
voice, “ you surprise me. Don’t you know that I 
have a rooted objection to holding up my hands 
in that aimless fashion? Besides,” with a 
chuckle, “ if it came to a showdown, my gun, 
though invisible, is quite as capable of damaging 
your uniform as yours might be to wound my 
august person.” 

“Mr. McKelvie!” The words were a gasp. 
Gordon remained petrified with his jaw hanging 
limp. 

“And Mr. Norris, too,” added McKelvie. 
“ What charge are you going to prefer against 
us? I’m curious to know.” 

“ I don’t understand,” remarked Gordon, 
pocketing his gun as he slowly recovered his wits. 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 229 


“ Mrs. Perkins said you were the same men who 
had broken in here the night before the murder.” 

“ So they are,” declared the tart voice out¬ 
side, whose owner had been listening at the 
hole in the window pane. 

“ Tell her to come in here,” whispered Mc- 
Kelvie eagerly. “ She may know something. 
This place was broken into on the night you 
mention.” 

Gordon mounted the steps to the door, opened 
it and called. When the face had disappeared 
from the window, McKelvie asked in a low tone, 
" Who is she?” 

“ A Mrs. Perkins. She lives two doors from 
the house in which the murder occurred. An 
awful busybody, always stirring up trouble. 
Knows more about you than you do yourself—” 

The words ended in a growl as an angular 
figure in an old gray coat darkened the door¬ 
way. Under a frowsy boudoir cap a pair of 
bright eyes peered at them vindictively. 

“ Come in, Mrs. Perkins,” invited Gordon. 

“ Is it safe, Officer?” she squeaked. “ Have 
you got the handcuffs on?” 

Ponderously Gordon explained the situation, 
whereupon Mrs. Perkins entered with a crest¬ 
fallen air. 

“ Well, anyhow,” she said in justification, “ I 


230 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


did see two men in the yard and one of them 
climbed in that winder about two a.m., three 
nights ago.” 

“ That’s what I am anxious to learn,” declared 
McKelvie with his best smile. “ How did you 
happen to see them, Mrs. Perkins?” 

Nothing gave Mrs. Perkins greater pleasure 
than a chance to retail such facts as she had been 
able to glean throughout the day. To number 
among her listeners a private investigator and 
the nephew of the recently murdered man 
swelled her meagre bosom with inordinate pride. 
Volubly she burst into speech. 

“ It was like this,” she explained. “ My room 
is at the back on the third floor. Three nights 
ago I couldn’t sleep. No, that ain’t right,” with 
a jerk of the bobbing head. “ It was the couple 
in the next room to me that woke me up coming 
in late.” 

“ Then you live in a boarding house?” in¬ 
quired McKelvie. 

“ Yes, and it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be 
either. Why I said to Mrs. Neal only the other 
day-” 

“ I know,” interrupted McKelvie who had no 
wish to hear what Mrs. Perkins had said to 
Mrs. Neal. “ You were telling us about the 
men you saw-” 




THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 231 


“ Fm telling you, ain’t I?” she demanded 
indignantly. “ And I said to Mrs. Neal, I said, 
‘ I wouldn’t stay here another minute the food is 
that bad only that — well, they do give you the 
room cheap and I ain’t as young as I once was 
to be moving around from post to pillar.’ That’s 
just what I said to Mrs. Neal. And she said 
to me-” 

McKelvie glanced at Norris with a resigned 
sigh and an expression that conveyed the mes¬ 
sage, “ Did you ever hear such an old bore, but 
I suppose I shall have to stand it, if I want to 
learn what she really knows.” Norris turned 
away to hide his smile, as Mrs. Perkins went 
on to retail at great length just what Mrs. Neal 
had said in reply. 

At length, having rambled through most of the 
gossip of the boarding-house, Mrs. Perkins re¬ 
turned to the night before the murder when the 
noisy couple next door had awakened her at 
one o’clock. 

“ I saw that I had insomny, so I got me a 
chair and looked out the winder. I can see the 
lights of Fourth Avenue and it makes it cheery- 
like. While I was watching I discovered a light 
in this back-yard. I knew the house was empty, 
so I hung out the winder and looked. I could see 
two figgers and one of them had a- You 




232 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


know. A what-you-may-call-’em that burglars 
carry in the moving pictures.” 

“ A flashlight,” suggested McKelvie. 

“ That’s it,” she continued eagerly. “ The 
name sort of slipped my mind. Well, one of 
them had a flashlight and he was bending over 
something, but I couldn’t tell what. Then he 
gave the flashlight to the other one who was 
shorter. Then they went over to the winder and 
the taller one did something or other and opened 
it, and climbed in. Pretty soon he came out the 
door there. Then they put out the flashlight and 
I could see them moving around like shadows, 
but I couldn’t tell what they were doing. After 
that they disappeared entirely.” 

“ You didn’t catch a glimpse of their features 
by any chance?” asked McKelvie when Mrs. 
Perkins paused for breath. 

“ No. They didn’t put the flash on each other. 
But next morning I went out and around and 
had a look at the place, but I couldn’t see nothing 
wrong. The back door was locked and the 
winder was fastened. I couldn’t see nothing or 
hear nothing, so I guessed maybe I was mistaken 
and had kinda dreamed the thing. I told Mrs. 
Neal and she said to me she said, ‘ It was them 
onions you had for supper.’ ” 

“ Very likely,” muttered McKelvie. 


THE TESTIMONY OF A HAIR 233 


“ But when I seen you climb in the winder 
this time, I was suspicious-like, seeing that there 
had been a murder so close and all. I wasn’t 
taking no chances this time. So I put on my 
coat, just as I was, and went for the police¬ 
man.” 

“ When you examined the house that next 
morning, did you notice whether there was a 
hole in the window pane?” demanded McKelvie. 

“ No, I didn’t. You see it was snowing quite 
hard then and I didn’t stop long.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Perkins. If you chance 
to see any one breaking in here again, just let us 
know,” returned McKelvie. He nodded at Gor¬ 
don who, taking the hint, diplomatically led the 
reluctant Mrs. Perkins away. 

“ We can definitely say then,” remarked Nor¬ 
ris as McKelvie locked the door and they left the 
basement through the window, “ that the crimi¬ 
nal changed the lock on the box and hid the 
mummy and its coffin in this empty house, in the 
early morning hours of the day of the crime.” 

“ And hid himself in the box. Don’t forget 
that, Phil,” responded McKelvie. “ The only 
question is, Was Granya Howe in the box with 
him?” 

“Mac!” exclaimed Norris aghast, turning a 
horrified face toward his companion. 


234 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ Look at the thing in the light of cold reason, 
Phil. We find traces of her presence in that 
basement. The auburn hair, remember. You 
encountered her in the drug store directly the 
murder had been committed. She was away 
from home for almost twenty-four hours, from 
eight the night before until seven or after the 
night of the crime-” 

“ How do you know that?” interrupted Norris 
indignantly. 

“ Miss Marietta Howe admitted the fact to 
me over the phone. I was talking with her this 
morning,” replied McKelvie calmly. “ So you 
see, Phil, we must ask ourselves, Where was 
Granya during those twenty-four hours? Don’t 
forget also that she had the dagger and wears a 
very incriminating ring.” 

But Norris had no use for cold reason. He 
was in the grip of an emotion that left him de¬ 
spairing and hopeful by turns. He refused to 
admit anything until he had seen her again that 
night. 



CHAPTER XX 


Dreams and Doubts 

After dinner that evening Norris approached 
the white stone house at the end of the block 
with beating heart and soaring hopes. At last 
he was to enjoy the ineffable pleasure of seeing 
Granya alone. Doubts were submerged beneath 
his dreams of exquisite happiness. 

As he ascended the steps, the door swung 
open silently, seemingly of its own volition. 
Somewhat surprised, but accepting this fact as 
an invitation to enter, the chemist stepped inside. 

In the wide hall with its atmosphere of incense 
he encountered Miss Marietta Howe. She was 
wearing a black beaded crepe and over her shoul¬ 
ders the same creamy lace shawl that she had 
worn when he first met her; in one hand she 
carried a bag of fancy work; with the other she 
motioned him to follow her. 

Considerably puzzled the young man obeyed, 
becoming more and more mystified as she 
ushered him into the drawing-room and closed 
the door carefully upon them. 

235 


236 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ I promised Granya that you should have this 
chance to see her,” she said then in her mourn¬ 
ful voice. “ My brother has forbidden the child 
to have anything to do with you. He is a hard, 
unforgiving man, my brother.” 

“ Miss Howe,” began Norris, but she held up 
a trembling hand. 

“ No, do not question me. I have wrought 
enough harm when I admitted her absence from 
home. I can tell you nothing.” She raised her 
sunken, faded eyes to his face and he saw with 
a sudden rush of pity that they were very sad, 
the mute, mournful eyes of a sorrow-burdened 
soul. 

At this moment, however, the portieres at the 
far end of the salon parted and Granya flashed 
like a ray of sunlight into the room. In the 
radiance of her presence Norris forgot the older 
woman and her troubles. He drew Granya down 
beside him on the ornate sofa — and became 
uneasily conscious of the fact that Miss Howe 
was watching them furtively. 

After that when they spoke at all it was of 
commonplaces. Those faded, ever watchful 
eyes disturbed the young man. He could not 
tell the girl what was in his heart with Miss 
Howe listening to every word. 

Once Granya remarked softly, “ Granddaddy 


DREAMS AND DOUBTS 


237 


would be very angry if he knew you were here. 
Fortunately, he went to a lecture tonight.” 

Norris was quick to seize his chance. “ Let 
me take you for a drive, then,” he said, bending 
towards her. He wanted above all things to get 
her to himself. 

She blushed adorably beneath his ardent gaze, 
but she made no objection to his proposition. 
She too was anxious to evade those dim blue 
eyes. 

“ I’ll have to go home for my car,” he returned 
eagerly. “ Just down the block. Will you be 
ready when I get back?” 

She assented. Without consulting her aunt, 
she escorted Norris to the front door. As he was 
leaving, she said laughingly, “ Yesterday, when 
I was introduced to you, you acted as though 
you had seen me before. What made you think 
so?” 

He looked down into her lovely eyes. “ Be¬ 
cause,” he said slowly, “ I saw a portrait of you 
in my uncle’s house the day before yesterday. 
I saw the portrait and a half hour later I saw 
you yourself crouched in the telephone booth of 
Hammers pharmacy.” 

A look, half-fear, half-wonder, overspread her 
bright face. “ My portrait?” she repeated. 
“ You must be mistaken. I never had my por- 


238 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


trait painted.” But he saw the color drain from 
her cheeks as he had seen it on a previous 
occasion. 

“ She is lying,” he said to himself, and added 
harshly, “ It was your portrait. When did you 
give it to my uncle?” 

Granya swept him from head to foot with a 
proudly withering glance. “ Since you seem in¬ 
clined to doubt me-” 

Her scorn cut him like a whiplash. What a 
fool he was to suspect her. He must have been 
mad even to think of such a thing as collusion 
between this girl and his uncle. Norris caught 
her hand pleadingly. 

“ Forgive me,” he cried. “I — I did not 
mean to doubt you. I don’t know what made 
me say such a thing. It’s this blamed affair 
that sets us all suspecting one another,” he 
floundered miserably. 

Perhaps she recalled that she had erred only 
the night before in a similar way. At any rate 
she had compassion on his distress. 

“ Please say no more about it. It doesn’t 
matter in the least,” she answered and smiled 
forgivingly. 

When he returned with his car, Granya was 
waiting for him. She was standing in the hall 
before a long, narrow Florentine mirror, ad- 



DREAMS AND DOUBTS 


239 


justing the collar of her sable coat. The sight 
of that garment re-aroused Norris’ doubts. 

To escape the thoughts that rose like a swarm 
of midgets to torment him, he drove swiftly, 
silently along the snow-banked streets until they 
had crossed Manhattan Square. Then he turned 
into Central Park and drove back slowly to the 
lily pond. Gently he asked her to alight. She 
obeyed without a word. 

The night was one of beauty. The deep, 
dark sky was pointed with a million frosted stars 
and the frozen pond glimmered like silver fret¬ 
work in the streaming light from the car lamps. 
From the distant lake came faintly, like a phan¬ 
tom echo, the shout of skaters, and the faraway 
sound only served to emphasize their complete 
aloofness from the outside world. 

Granya turned her rose-tinted face toward 
him, her breath issuing like a wraith of smoke 
between her vivid lips. He looked down into 
the blue depths of her eyes and lost himself 
completely. He never could account for the 
rest. All he knew was that she was in his arms, 
that he was kissing her cold cheeks, her warm, 
vibrant lips. 

Time and space and doubts were swept away. 
It was only when he held her again in his arms 
in the wide hall of her home and he felt the 


240 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


rich softness of her cloak against his cheek that 
memory returned laden with ghostly horrors that 
he could not entirely cast aside. 

To rid himself of these doubts once for all, 
he said quickly, “ Granya, weren’t you in my 
uncle’s house three — no four — nights ago? 
Don’t be afraid to confide in me, dear. You hid 
in the wooden receptacle and after the murder 
you slipped out through the open front door. 
You spoke to the policeman on the corner and 
later hid again in the telephone booth. You 
had that coat on.” 

With sudden strength she pushed him from 
her. Wild-eyed she looked about the hall, then, 
on an impulse, she faced him again, her glance 
steady and unwavering. “ I think you must be 
crazy, Phil, I was ill in bed at the time you men¬ 
tion,” she said with dignity. But again he saw 
her color flutter painfully. 

“ Why do you persist in denying it, Granya?” 
he asked unhappily. “ I don’t care what you 
have done, but I must end this suspense. I 
can’t stand these torturing doubts. Even if you 
helped to kill my uncle, it doesn’t matter at all. 
I love you Granya.” 

She gazed at him with dawning horror in her 
eyes. “ You could think me capable of that?” 
she whispered. 


DREAMS AND DOUBTS 


241 


“ No, no,” he cried out, realizing all of a 
sudden the dreadful accusation. 

But she was gone. He heard her alternately 
laughing and sobbing as she fled up the marble 
stairs. 

As he walked slowly, brokenly, toward the 
door, Miss Marietta appeared before him. She 
came up to him and caught his arm with her 
trembling old fingers. 

“ Do you love her?” she demanded in her 
distressed voice, her faded eyes searching his 
face. 

Norris was taken aback. Had Miss Howe 
been spying upon them? What for? Was she 
his enemy or his friend? 

“ Of course I love her,” he retorted impa¬ 
tiently. 

“ Really love her, I mean. None of your 
namby-pamby sort that is frightened off at the 
least alarm?” 

“ I’d go through hell for her,” said Norris. 

The little old lady peered at him a long time. 
“ You may be called on to do so,” she said very 
quietly. “ Don’t fail her. Whatever happens, 
don’t fail her — if you want to save her.” 

With which strange prediction Miss Howe 
vanished. Norris returned home in an anxious 
frame of mind. 


CHAPTER XXI 
The Irrevocable Past 

If Norris was perturbed the night before, he 
was even more disquieted the next morning when 
he was refused admittance to Granya’s presence. 
Man-like, he had soothed himself with the 
thought that she would forgive him as she had 
before. But she absolutely declined to see him 
even for a moment, nor would Miss Howe come 
down and talk to him. 

He drove away feeling like a pariah, cast out 
into the cold, unfeeling world because he had 
dared to doubt. That day his work suffered 
again. He saw that he was in no condition to 
cope with his experiments and wisely turned the 
work over to his assistants for a day or two. 

That afternoon as he sat moodily in his 
library, refusing even the small crumbs of com¬ 
fort which his mother held out, there was a knock 
at the door and McKelvie walked in, bringing 
with him a breath of the cold, bracing air. One 
glance at the disconsolate figure sunk in a chair 
before the fire was enough for those keen eyes. 

“ What’s wrong, Phil? Have you learned so 
soon that love is but a dream, a pretty fable with 
242 


THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 243 


which we dupe ourselves to our own lasting 
sorrow?” 

Had Norris been less engrossed in his own 
devastating troubles he would have roused him¬ 
self to argue with his friend. As it was he 
merely went on to relate dejectedly the events 
of the previous evening, mentioning particularly 
Miss Howe’s queer words. 

“ That woman knows something of this 
mystery,” remarked McKelvie, perching on the 
edge of the table. “ She is afraid, too.” 

Norris followed moodily his own thread of 
thought. “ What hurts most is her lack of con¬ 
fidence in me. She says she loves me, and 
yet she deliberately lies to me.” He threw out 
his hands despairingly. “ When I am with her 
all I can think of is my love for her. When I am 
away from her all my doubts of her grow and 
grow until their ugly tentacles enfold me and 
drag me down into horrible depths where all 
is vile and there is no virtue anywhere.” 

“ Nonsense, Phil. You are letting your imagi¬ 
nation run away with you,” retorted McKelvie, 
trying to rouse the chemist from his slough of 
despond. “ If you really love the girl, it fol¬ 
lows that you must believe in her. If you mis¬ 
trust her, you don’t love her. You see, it is very 
simple after all.” 


244 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Norris rose and began to pace the floor like a 
restless caged beast. From the depths of bitter 
experience he smiled tolerantly upon his friend’s 
abysmal ignorance of the subject under discus¬ 
sion. 

“ You don’t know what you are talking about, 
Mac,” he said. “ You have never been in love.” 

McKelvie’s twisted smile was lost upon the 
chemist. Only the flames caught it and whirled 
its reflection upward in a jagged point of fire. 

“ Love is the most complex sensation under 
the sun. It almost seems as though there are 
times when one can love and hate in the same 
breath. All I know is that I do love Granya 
truly and sincerely, love her enough to want to 
make her my wife; and yet — I have no faith 
in her. She lied to me, twice, Mac.” 

“ A woman does not look upon a lie with the 
same horror as a man, Phil. Remember what 
Miss Howe said. You mustn’t fail her,” replied 
McKelvie soberly. 

“ You have come to the conclusion that 

Granya is innocent? You have proof-” 

exclaimed Norris, swinging toward the other with 
brightening eyes. 

“ I never said she was guilty. I have no proof 
of anything. I have a feeling that something is 
going to happen and I can’t just make out what. 



THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 245 


However, that’s neither here nor there. What 
I meant was that, unless you believe her inno¬ 
cent, I don’t give much for her chances of happi¬ 
ness with you.” 

Norris gave up trying to explain. “ You 
don’t understand. I don’t care what she has 
done. But I want her to tell me herself, to con¬ 
fide in me,” he cried out unhappily. 

McKelvie tactfully changed the subject. He 
got down from the table and put his hand on 
Norris’ shoulder. “ I came over to get you, 
Phil, because Fordney wants to see you. He 
is very anxious to tell what he knows, but he 
wishes to tell it to you. Jamieson thinks it 
would be wiser to humor him than to let him 
fret.” 

Norris was only too glad to get away from 
himself and his troubles. Besides, the old serv¬ 
ant might be able to clear up a few of the darker 
points, to shed light on the murder and Granya’s 
connection with his uncle. 

“ Why do you think something is going to hap¬ 
pen?” inquired Norris as he drove McKelvie to 
Bellevue. 

“ I don’t know. I suppose because things have 
been quiet for so long. Besides, I seem to make 
no headway. I’m always running up against 
blank walls, and every one connected with the 


246 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


mystery refuses to explain his or her true posi¬ 
tion. There’s Arlita Farrell, for instance. Why 
does she wear that brooch? And what’s the 
connection between her and Granya and who¬ 
ever left that scarf pin on your uncle’s body?” 
He sighed impatiently. “ One could go on ask¬ 
ing questions from now till doomsday without 
getting any forwarder.” 

“ What about Mr. Farrell? Have you heard 
from your message yet?” inquired Norris. 

“ Blanks so far. Evidently he did not serve 
time in this country.” 

When they reached Bellevue, they went di¬ 
rectly to Fordney’s room. Outside the door 
they were met by Doctor Jamieson, who de¬ 
sired to be present at the interview. 

“ I cannot permit my patient to over-excite 
himself, especially as he has already had one 
visitor today,” remarked the head physician. 

“ Williams?” asked McKelvie quickly. 

The older man nodded. “ I could not very 
well keep him away.” 

They were ushered into a high-ceilinged room, 
white and bare. Fordney looked like a ghost 
propped up against his pillows. He smiled a 
wan greeting as Norris took the feeble hand in 
his. 

“ Mr. Phil, I’m glad you’ve come. I want to 


THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 247 


get this burden off my mind. I had hoped to 
tell you first, sir, but that policeman was here 
early this morning and made me speak.” His 
voice was a mere, wavering thread. 

Norris patted the thin hand. “ When you are 
quite well, there is a place for you in my home,” 
he said kindly. 

“ Thank you, Mr. Phil. But I have some 
money saved up. I guess I’ll buy a little shack 
somewhere and take it easy the rest of my life.” 

Norris sat down beside the bed and the other 
two men drew up chairs to listen. 

“ I’ll begin when Mr. Faraday first met the 
Jezebel, because it was then that all the trouble 
started. That was ten years ago, and your 
uncle, Mr. Phil, was fifty.” Fordney kept his 
rheumy eyes fastened on Norris’ face as though 
he saw only the young chemist in the room. 
“ He didn’t look his age and he was quite a sport 
and dandy. He could have had his pick of the 
Parisian ladies, but he had to be taken with the 
Jezebel. I don’t remember what he used to call 
her.” 

“ Arlita?” suggested McKelvie. 

Fordney turned his eyes slowly toward Mc¬ 
Kelvie. “ You have heard this story?” he asked 
surprised. 

“ Some of it. But go on. I want all the 


248 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


details you can give me,” answered McKelvie. 

“ That was her name,” continued the old 
man. “ Arlita he always called her when he was 
pleased. Otherwise he called her different 
names, ugly ones. She was seventeen at the 
time, but worldly-wise with hard, cold eyes, and 
an unfeeling heart. Her hair was quite black 
and her skin very white. She used to paint 
her lips a bright red which made her look very 
queer, like a bad woman, I thought. Your 
uncle used to like her like that, though, espe¬ 
cially when she smiled. He would do anything 
for her then.” 

He paused, worn by the unaccustomed exer¬ 
tion. In the silence that followed both McKelvie 
and Norris were envisioning the smile that Arlita 
Farrell had bestowed upon them. There were 
no two women who answered to the description 
that Fordney had given. So Arlita Farrell, in 
spite of her denial, had been Jonas Faraday’s 
wife. 

Fordney resumed. “ This Jezebel was mar¬ 
ried to a nice youngish sort of man called Andrew 
Howe. For some reason she disliked her hus¬ 
band, although they had not been married very 
long. They had a small apartment in one of 
the less pretentious streets, so I suppose they 
were quite poor. Anyhow she liked to dress up 


THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 249 

very much. Your uncle used to give her lots of 
jewels.” 

“ How old was Andrew Howe?” interrupted 
McKelvie. 

“ About thirty-two or three, I think. Not 
more than that. Well, one day your uncle, Mr. 
Phil, took the Jezebel to Nice. They were gone 
a week. Andrew Howe came to the house, rag¬ 
ing mad. I tried to pacify him and he finally 
wrote your uncle a note and went away. When 
Mr. Faraday returned he brought the Jezebel 
home with him. I gave him Mr. Andrew Howe’s 
note. Your uncle read it and laughed sneer- 
ingly. I heard him say to her, ‘ Your fool of a 
husband wants to fight a duel with me over you/ 
and he laughed again.” 

“What answer did she make to that?” in¬ 
quired Norris. 

“ She laughed too.” He went on in a dif¬ 
ferent tone, “ The next morning she came flying 
to me with a terrified face. Mr. Faraday had 
gone out early. She was sure he had gone to 
fight the duel. She wanted me to go with her 
to her husband’s house. I thought she was 
crazy—because I knew your uncle wouldn’t risk 
his life for any woman — but I went with her. 
She had a key with her. The house was like a 
tomb. We crept upstairs and there in the hall 


250 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


we found Mr. Howe dead with a pistol in his 
hand. I called the police. The verdict was 
suicide. I have always wondered if your uncle 
went to see Mr. Howe. Anyway, when Mr. 
Howe’s will was probated the Jezebel was sole 
heir to everything.” 

Fordney lay back exhausted by the recital 
and the three men exchanged glances. 

Norris asked, “ Did — did Howe leave any 
children?” 

“ I don’t know, sir. I never heard of any,” 
answered Fordney in a weak voice. 

Jamieson interposed. “ I think the rest can 
keep until tomorrow. You mustn’t overdo it.” 

But Fordney insisted on finishing his story. 
“ There’s only a little more. Mr. Faraday mar¬ 
ried the Jezebel and lived for four years in Paris. 
Then he and I left suddenly one night. He had 
all this time been calling himself by the name 
of Fielding to the outside world. Now he made 
me call myself Fordney. For a year we went 
from place to place like hunted animals. As soon 
as we were settled comfortably, a telegram or 
cable would come, and off he’d go again like a 
frightened rabbit. 

“ Finally we came to New York and I bought 
the house in Gramercy Park while he stayed in 
hiding. He had the secret door put in and he 


THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 251 


lived in the back in fear for his life for five 
years. He grew old and broken. Only one thing 
interested him and that was the treasures in the 
vault. I bought all those things from Kastamuni 
under the name of Kramer. The house back on 
Fourth Avenue was your uncle’s too. All the 
stuff was delivered there and I would move it 
in under cover of the night.” 

“ The wooden box which contained the 
mummy case, too?” asked McKelvie. 

“ Yes, sir. But he helped me with that. It 
was too heavy for me alone. We had rollers 
under it and it was quite a job. We brought it 
in just before dawn. That was the first time 
he had been outside the house in five years.” 

“ You brought it in through the door in the 
vault?” 

Fordney’s eyes expressed surprise. “ You 
know that too, sir? Yes. The door was so fixed 
that it could only be opened from the inside 
and only with the key that I had. He took 
every precaution, Mr. Phil, and yet they got 
him in the end.” 

“ Who, Forthright?” inquired Norris eagerly. 
Was the mystery to be solved in the next few 
words that Fordney uttered? 

“ I don’t know, Mr. Phil. Your uncle never 
told me anything. But I sort of figured it this 


252 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


way. A long time ago your uncle and two other 
men, Howe and some one else, were mixed up 
together in some enterprise. I don’t know what 
it was, but I think it was from them he was 
running away. Most of the cables he received 
during that year had the name Howe in them 
somewhere. He had something that they 
wanted, I think. He told me the day he sent me 
for you, Mr. Phil, that his secret was walled up 
in the library. If his enemies found him out he 
was to be revenged. I was to take those papers 
when he was dead and turn them over to you 
so you could avenge him, Mr. Phil.” 

McKelvie leaned forward with sparkling eyes, 
“ What were these papers, Fordney?” 

“ I didn’t have a chance to look for them, 
sir. But I can tell you where the papers are.” 
He lowered his voice until it was barely audible 
and the three men had to sit forward to catch 
his words. “ In his library is a book called ‘ The 
Philosophy of Epicurus.’ Behind that book is 
a panel. If you press the panel exactly in the 
center a door will open. In the recess you will 
find his secret.” The old man spoke very slowly, 
as though he were repeating a lesson he had 
conned. 

“ Did you mention any of this to Williams?” 
asked McKelvie somewhat anxiously. 


THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 253 


“ No, sir. I did not mention the hiding- 
place nor the secret. The detective only asked 
me about Mr. Eldredge Howe and whether he 
had known my master. I said I thought so, 
since Mr. Andrew Howe was his son.’ 7 

McKelvie raised his brows. “ So. I wonder 
where Williams obtained that lead? By the 
way, what became of Mrs. Faraday?” 

“ She went with us as far as England. Then 
she and Mr. Faraday had a row of some sort. 
I understood that she left him for some one else 
after that.” 

“ Did Mr. Faraday leave a will?” 

“ No, sir, but I know that he intended leaving 
everything to Mr. Phil. He said so, often.” 

That was the sum and substance of what 
Fordney could tell them. Further questioning 
elicited nothing of value. Doctor Jamieson had 
risen, considering the interview as ended, when 
Norris unexpectedly roused himself from his 
musing. 

“ Whose portrait was that in the corridor?” 
he demanded. 

“ Miss Granya’s, Mr. Phil,” replied Fordney 
simply. 

“ Granya’s! ” echoed Norris stupidly. He was 
stunned by this proof of the girl’s perfidy. 
“ Was she — could she have been-?” he 



254 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


stammered, unable to put the hateful thought 
into words. 

“ What did you say, Mr. Phil?” queried the 
sick man. 

“ Mr. Norris wants to know just who Miss 
Granya is,” interposed McKelvie, quickly. 

Fordney smiled. “ Why, don’t you know, Mr. 
Phil? She was your cousin.” 

“ You mean that — that she is Uncle Jonas’s 
daughter?” exclaimed Norris, hesitatingly and 
unwillingly. 

Fordney nodded. “ I suppose you wouldn’t 
know, though. She was a beautiful young lady, 
Mr. Phil, and so good-hearted.” 

“ Why do you say 4 was?’ ” inquired McKel¬ 
vie abruptly. “ Is she dead?” 

“ Yes, sir. She died a good many years ago, 
twenty at least.” 

Norris passed a dazed hand across his brow. 
“ I don’t understand,” he murmured. 

“ The thing is simplicity itself,” explained 
McKelvie. “ We have been talking at cross pur¬ 
poses. The portrait is not that of Granya 
Howe.” 

Fordney caught the swiftly spoken words. 
“ No, sir. Her name was Granya Faraday. It 
never was anything else but that.” 

“ You are sure?” Norris grasped the thin 


THE IRREVOCABLE PAST 255 


old hand convulsively as a sudden conviction 
assailed him. “ Did she never marry?” 

“ I’m sure, Mr. Phil. No, she didn't marry. 
She was away at boarding-school in Paris most 
of her life. Mr. Faraday lost his wife when 
Miss Granya was about five or so. Then, when 
she was about nineteen she became ill and the 
doctors ordered her to the country. She only 
lived a year after that, Mr. Phil. She was never 
very strong.” 

“ But, the portrait is dedicated to her hus¬ 
band,” said Norris perplexed. 

“ Is that so, Mr. Phil? I didn't know that. 
She didn't know any men unless it was the 
artist that painted the picture.” 

“ Who was the artist?” demanded McKelvie 
as Norris lapsed into silence. “ And how did 
it happen that he painted her portrait?” 

“ She used to spend her holidays with us 
sometimes. When she was seventeen she met 
a young artist, a Mr. Trevor. He insisted on 
painting her picture. He was giving an exhibit 
or something. Mr. Faraday consented. He 
was so proud of her, Mr. Phil. But she was 
never alone with the young man. Always her 
father and sometimes I was in the room. When 
she died, Mr. Faraday brought the picture 
home.” 


256 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ How does it happen that Mr. Faraday’s sis¬ 
ter did not know he was married ?” 

“ When he was eighteen, he ran away from 
home, sir, and his family cast him off. When he 
was twenty he married in England and remained 
there until his wife died. Though he saw his 
sister occasionally, sir, he was not really on good 
terms with her. He was too proud to tell her 
anything of his affairs.” 

Norris mentally honored the old fellow for 
standing up for his master, even though the 
latter had been a blackguard. 

McKelvie broke the pause, “ Was Miss Fara¬ 
day’s hair fine or coarse, Fordney?” 

Fordney replied in genuine astonishment, 
“ Very fine, sir. Fine and long, almost down to 
her feet.” 


CHAPTER XXII 
Behind the Panel 

It was late when they drove away from the 
hospital. The gray sky had grown duller and 
the wind was wailing dismally around the bleak 
buildings which they had just quitted. At Mc- 
Kelvie’s suggestion, Norris headed for Gramercy 
Park. 

“ We might as well secure those documents 
that Fordney mentioned. They might prove to 
contain the information we are seeking.” 

“ Can it be mere coincidence that Granya 
should so resemble that portrait of another girl?” 
Norris meditated, his thoughts on the one topic 
that held any interest for him. 

McKelvie replied emphatically, “ Of course, 
it isn’t coincidence. Granya is an unusual name. 
That strangers should bear the same name and 
look exactly alike would be stretching things too 
far. No, they are mother and daughter, Phil.” 

“ Then Granya Howe is my cousin? My 
uncle’s granddaughter? But what is her real 
name?” 

“ You are asking something that I cannot 
257 


258 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


answer,” responded McKelvie thoughtfully. 
“ Odd that Eldredge Howe, hating your uncle, 

should harbor his enemy’s grandchild-. By 

Jove, I begin to see daylight. Why, of course.” 

Norris said irritably, “ What is of course?” 

“ Nothing. I have a bad habit of talking to 
myself. Do you know, Phil, that I was totalling 
results last night. The net result is negligible. 
We have acquired a tremendous amount of infor¬ 
mation without having progressed very far. We 
are like travellers in the desert who see before 
them the end toward which they are moving, only 
to find when they reach it that it is a mirage of 
the sands.” 

Norris nodded without replying. 

McKelvie continued his analysis of the case. 
“ Summed up briefly we have the following 
facts. Mr. Faraday was murdered by some one 
whom he had injured, this some one entering 
the house by hiding in the wooden box from 
which the mummy and its case had been re¬ 
moved. The murderer employed a weapon be¬ 
longing to Eldredge Howe, but which was last 
known to have been in Granya Howe’s posses¬ 
sion. This unknown also left behind him a scarf 
pin of peculiar make whose symbology is dupli¬ 
cated in Granya’s ring and Arlita Farrell’s 
brooch.” 



BEHIND THE PANEL 


259 


“ If we could learn the significance of the 
scarf pin,” hinted Norris. 

“ If we could. My dear boy, I have Wilkins 
on the trail of that. Without the pin itself the 
task is one of almost insurmountable difficulty. 
But to go on. Both Granya Howe and Arlita 
Farrell are keeping back what they know of 
this mystery. Also they appear to be in col¬ 
lusion. Then Mr. Farrell evidently carries in 
his watch a lock of Miss Faraday’s hair. I am 
just wondering whether he might not have been 
the artist Trevor.” 

“ Don’t. These conjectures are driving me 
wild,” begged Norris. “ If only I could clear up 
the mystery surrounding Granya, if only I could 
learn what she had to do with the case, I 
wouldn’t care twopence who killed my uncle.” 

McKelvie sighed. “ That’s the trouble. All 
we have are conjectures. Every lead ends in a 
blank wall. Granya herself is a blank wall. 
Without actual proof one cannot accuse a gen¬ 
tleman and his sister of complicity in the crime. 
And if Miss Marietta, who seems favorably in¬ 
clined toward you, refuses to tell you anything, 
she is hardly likely to give me her confidence 
unless I can bring pressure to bear upon her.” 
McKelvie was musing aloud, his companion for¬ 
gotten. “ It’s all a hopeless tangle. We are 


260 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


picking our way through a labyrinth of appar¬ 
ently motiveless acts and we unfortunately have 
no Ariadne’s clue to guide us.” 

They drew up before the decrepit house in 
Gramercy Park West and, while Norris covered 
the hood of his car, McKelvie ran up the decay¬ 
ing steps, the keys that he had used before dang¬ 
ling from his hand and jingling clearly in the cold 
air like tuneful bells. 

In the enclosed park the bare branches of the 
trees etched themselves darkly against the dull 
gray sky like gaunt, supplicating arms; and, see¬ 
ing them, Norris shivered as he had shivered that 
first evening when he had come to this house of 
horrors. He had a distinct premonition of evil. 
He felt that the house was about to reveal in¬ 
sidious mysteries, secrets walled up within its 
dark and mouldering foundations, dead things 
in ghastly cerements whose very disclosure would 
undermine his sanity. He shuddered again as 
he watched McKelvie fumbling with the lock of 
the grated entrance. 

The scene was so very similar to that previous 
one that Norris would not have been surprised 
if Officer Gordon had challenged them out of 
the gloom. But no measured tread disturbed the 
silence of the street. The stillness was broken 
only by a low whistle from McKelvie. 


BEHIND THE PANEL 


261 


“ Hello,” said the latter softly, “ this lock has 
been tampered with, Phil.” He pushed open 
the door and entered the vestibule. “ And this 
one is smashed,” he added, examining the lock 
of the inner door by the light of his flash. “ It 
looks very much as though some one had broken 
into the place.” 

“ The treasures in the vault,” exclaimed 
Norris. “ Those Egyptian antiquities are of 
sufficient value to arouse the cupidity of the 
professional burglar.” 

As they hurried down the hall, the chemist 
added, “ I thought the police were still guarding 
the house.” 

“ Gordon patrols the beat. I suppose that 
Williams considered the place sufficiently pro¬ 
tected.” 

They crossed the small corridor and found the 
wall open. Norris recalled that it had not been 
closed since the police had taken charge. When 
they reached the vault, McKelvie descended the 
steps alone. He was not affected by its tomb¬ 
like interior and its phantom-haunted atmos¬ 
phere. But his flash revealed no change. Noth¬ 
ing had been displaced. Even the painted box 
stood with its lid open as Williams had left it. 

McKelvie mounted the steps, frowning. 
“ Whoever was in this house was certainly not 


262 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


bent on robbery-” He broke off with an 

inaudible exclamation and sprang down the pas¬ 
sage to the door of the library. 

On the threshold, Norris, who had followed 
closely, paused, astounded. The beautiful old 
room was a wreck. In the rays of the flash he 
could see that furniture had been overturned, 
that the drawers of the desk and table had been 
pulled out and their contents strewed over the 
floor. 

McKelvie located the switch for the over¬ 
head lights. In the more brilliant illumination 
the scene of desolation was enhanced. Orna¬ 
ments worth thousands had been smashed re¬ 
gardless of value. Chair cushions had been 
ripped open. The paper had been torn from the 
walls. Many of the books had been pulled from 
the shelves and were lying in tatters on the 
carpet. 

Both men simultaneously sought and found 
the volume that Fordney had mentioned. There 
it stood, untouched as yet, guarding the secret 
that these vandals had ransacked the room to 
discover. They had evidently just begun upon 
the bookshelves when they were disturbed, for 
only the bottom tier had been denuded. 

McKelvie strode across the room and put out 
a hand to grasp “ The Philosophy of Epicurus.” 



BEHIND THE PANEL 


263 


Then he snatched back his fingers as though a 
viper had stung him. 

“ Wired,” he said succinctly. “ Where the 
devil do you suppose the control is?” 

He searched the room with a quick glance, 
then he picked up a gutta-percha ruler from the 
debris on the floor. After switching off the light 
he touched the book gingerly with the hard 
rubber. 

“ This switch does not affect the current,” he 
said, turning on the electrolier again. “ If I had 
a pair of strong rubber gloves, I’d risk pulling 
Mr. Epicurus from his moorings. As it is, I’m 
not keen on taking a journey across the Styx.” 

“ You could not go in a worthier cause, Mac,” 
replied Norris, momentarily infected by the 
other’s mood. 

“ Afraid I can’t oblige you, Phil. Life still 
holds a few thrills for me.” While McKelvie 
talked those keen eyes of his darted here and 
there over the walls. “ The window is wired, 
too, so that it’s probable that the wires go 
through to the ground.” He dropped on his 
knees and began to sound the boarding. 
“ What’s beneath this room, Phil?” 

“ I’m sure I don’t know. That door at the 
end of the library leads to the bedroom that my 
uncle used,” responded Norris. “ I don’t believe 


264 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


the vault extends this far, so I can’t say what 
lies beneath the library.” 

“ Where did Fordney sleep?” 

“ Upstairs. There are two stories above this 
one.” 

“ The logical place to send these high voltage 
wires is into the earth. Let’s go down and in¬ 
vestigate. We can do nothing here until we shut 
off that current.” McKelvie was as excited as a 
schoolboy on a lark. 

Norris followed his friend to the vault reluc¬ 
tantly. He had come to hate that dark, cold 
room with its ghastly associations. The chill 
atmosphere was crowded with phantom mem¬ 
ories that clutched his heart with icy fingers of 
dread and doubt. 

But when McKelvie, after poking around dis¬ 
covered that one wall rang a little hollow and 
declared that there was another room beyond 
the vault, the young chemist began to experience 
a strange apprehension. Was it here, in the 
bosom of the ancient house that his uncle had 
buried the secrets destined to destroy his (Nor¬ 
ris’) happiness? Would he find here the reason 
for Granya’s unaccountable actions? And find¬ 
ing, would he come to hate the girl he loved so 
vehemently now? 

To rid himself of even the shadow of such a 


BEHIND THE PANEL 


265 


thought, Norris kept his mind focused on Mc- 
Kelvie’s movements. 

It happened that among the relics in one of 
the cabinets that lined the vault was a mace- 
head made of marble and fitted to a handle. It 
was a formidable weapon used in war by the 
pre-dynastic Egyptians. McKelvie was not in¬ 
terested in the curio’s history nor its antiquity. 
He saw it only as a means to an end. 

Using the mace-head as a pick, he swung it 
again and again against one portion of the wall. 
Gradually the cement crumbled away, exposing 
the bricks. Several of these he was able to 
loosen by directing the pointed end of the mace 
against the surrounding mortar. Through the 
aperture thus produced they were able to get a 
glimpse into the room beyond. 

To Norris’ relief, and somewhat to his dis¬ 
appointment since he had made up his mind to 
encounter all sorts of horrors, McKelvie’s flash 
revealed only a dark, musty hole of a room fes¬ 
tooned with cobwebs. There was nothing secret 
within those four walls. 

McKelvie, who had not been hunting for con¬ 
cealed evidences of long forgotten crimes, 
pointed to the metal box fastened to one of the 
walls. “ There is the mischief-maker,” he re¬ 
marked. “ That is the switch that controls the 


266 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


current leading to the window and bookshelf.” 

He enlarged the hole and stepped through, 
pushing aside the heavy cobwebs with his hands. 
In another moment he had turned off the electric 
power. 

“ You look relieved and disappointed, Phil. 
Did you expect to find a corpse mouldering in 
yonder cave?” McKelvie asked lightly. “ Or 
were you endowing your uncle with the per¬ 
verted imagination of Montresor, the chap who 
walled up his enemy alive in one of Poe’s master¬ 
pieces? The real secret is upstairs.” 

They returned to the library and McKelvie 
again approached “ The Philosophy of Epi¬ 
curus.” He took the precaution to test the 
volume with the ruler first, then, with a pleased 
chuckle, he took the book down from the shelf. 
It came away easily enough, bringing with it a 
length of insulated wiring that ran down through 
a hole in the bookshelf. The volume itself, a 
mere shell to imitate a book, was so wired that 
contact with the outer surface brought instant 
and dire results. 

“ Your uncle was an ingenious old devil,” 
commented McKelvie. “ Let’s see what he was 
so anxious to guard from meddling hands.” 

He pressed the space that Epicurus had con¬ 
cealed and the panel slid aside, disclosing a hole 


BEHIND THE PANEL 


267 


about six inches square. With shining eyes, 
McKelvie eagerly plunged in his hand and drew 
out a long, legal-looking envelope of heavy blue 
linen. 

“ Here, Phil.” McKelvie thrust the envelope 
upon his friend. “ You had better open it. 
After all you are his heir and I have no business 
prying into what may not have been meant for 
my eyes.” 

Reluctantly Norris examined the envelope. 
Now that the moment had come he was not so 
sure that he wanted to know his uncle’s secret. 
On the upper side of the envelope was written, 
“ To be opened only in case of my death by 
violence,” showing that Jonas Faraday had pre¬ 
pared for the eventuality that overtook him. 
Turning the envelope over, Norris saw that the 
flap had been torn open. 

“ Look here, Mac. This seems to have been 
tampered with.” 

“ Open it, then. Don’t stand there and look 
at it,” exclaimed McKelvie impatiently. “ Let’s 
have a glance at the enclosure.” 

Norris drew out a folded sheet of ordinary 
paper and spread it out on the table before them. 
In the very center appeared the words, printed 
in a bold hand, “ Thank you for directing my 
attention to Jonas Fielding’s hiding-place. By 


268 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


the time you read this the papers you want will 
have been destroyed.” 

The men looked at each other blankly, too 
astonished to speak. Then McKelvie smote his 
hands together angrily. 

“ What a fool I was to leave this room un¬ 
guarded. I might have known that whoever 
was in here before us would keep watch upon 
us. I’m not fit to be a criminal investigator, 
upon my word, I’m not.” 

Norris, who had been staring at the paper be¬ 
came uneasily conscious of the fact that he was 
being spied upon. Guardedly he turned his head 
and saw a pair of eyes gazing at him from the 
window. They were light eyes and their expres¬ 
sion as they rested on the paper was one of 
malicious triumph. Even as Norris called his 
companion’s attention to them, they were gone. 

“ Some one is watching us, Mac,” he said 
nervously. 

“ Wants to see how we have taken this blow 
to our plans,” returned McKelvie bitterly. “ We 
might as well be going. I’m thoroughly dis¬ 
gusted- Good Lord, what was that!” 

A mocking laugh, high, and sweet, echoed 
through the dark passage outside the library 
door, and the next moment Arlita Farrell had 
walked calmly into the room. 



CHAPTER XXIII 
The Arrest 

“ Miss Farrell !” McKelvie was the first to 
recover his voice. He took a step toward the 
young woman who was watching him with cold, 
satirical eyes. 

“ I suppose you are wondering what I am do¬ 
ing here,” remarked Arlita Farrell coolly. “ I 
came to get my rights.” She gestured toward 
the book-shelf with her head and the motion 
set the diamond pendants in her ears to spark¬ 
ling. 

McKelvie with aplomb equal to her own, 
pushed over one of the arm-chairs. “ I’m sorry 
I can’t offer you anything better,” he said. “ The 
cushions seem to have been recently ripped.” 

She accepted the chair with a curious smile. 
“ I don’t object. But this is not the only chair 
in the room,” she hinted. 

Norris took the couch but McKelvie fell to 
pacing the room. “ Am I to understand, Miss 
Farrell, that you abstracted the papers from 
269 


270 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


this envelope ?” he inquired, taking the blue 
wrapper from the table. 

“ If you care to put it that way. The con¬ 
tents belonged to me,” she replied calmly. 

“ How can I be sure of that fact? They may 
also have had a bearing on the crime.” 

She shrugged. “ I know nothing of the crime. 
I came to get my rights. I was in this room 
when I heard you come in, so I slipped into the 
bedroom from which vantage point I discovered 
where the document was hidden.” 

“ How did you manage to take the volume 
from its place without suffering a shock?” de¬ 
manded Norris curiously, his eyes on the cold, 
impassive face. 

“ I’m not exactly a fool. I had read, in the 
account of the crime, how the window was wired, 
and I knew Jonas well enough to assume that 
the house would be a death-trap. I came pre¬ 
pared with rubber gloves.” 

“ So you admit knowing Jonas Faraday?” re¬ 
marked McKelvie caustically. 

“ Why not? I have enough respect for your 
ability to know that you would not be long in 
discovering that I had been his wife, even if I 
did deny the fact. And, having taken the thing 
you wanted, I decided that I might as well re¬ 
main and frankly tell you so. I don’t care to be 


THE ARREST 


271 


investigated, you see. I have too much at stake. 
My career for one thing; my approaching mar¬ 
riage for another.” 

“ May I ask you a rather pertinent question?” 
inquired Norris. 

She glanced at him indifferently. “ If you 
wish. I do not have to answer it, you know,” 
she said in that sweet, husky voice. 

“ If you were Uncle Jonas’ wife, how could 
you become engaged to Hirshkoff while the for¬ 
mer was still living?” demanded the chemist 
pointedly. 

McKelvie nodded approval of the question, 
but Arlita Farrell only laughed amusedly. “ I 
divorced Jonas five years ago on the grounds of 
desertion. He left me stranded in England with¬ 
out rhyme or reason and disappeared entirely. I 
had no idea he was in New York until his murder 
revealed his whereabouts.” 

McKelvie paced the room thoughtfully. She 
was so very self-possessed, this young woman, 
that it was plain that she had quite the best of 
the argument. 

“ Would you mind telling me, for the sake of 
clearing up one of the many obscure points of 
this case, just what your relations with Jonas 
Faraday were?” he asked. 

She threw back her ermine coat as though the 


272 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


weight of it were too much for slender shoulders. 
Both men noticed the gold brooch with its three 
tiny hands and, seeing their glance upon it, Arlita 
Farrell clutched it with her hand. 

“ Really,” she drawled, but her eyes were 
uneasy, “you ask too much of me.” 

“ Because I know so much,” responded Mc- 
Kelvie gravely. “ You were the wife of Andrew 
Howe and you abandoned him for Jonas Fara¬ 
day-” 

“ And you think it was only poetic justice that 
Jonas Faraday should then have abandoned 
me?” she queried ironically. “ Perhaps it was, 
but is one to suffer always for the follies of one’s 
youth?” 

She added in pleading, dulcet tones, “ I was 
very young, Mr. McKelvie, only seventeen. 
Andrew was so commonplace, so good, such a 
model husband. And Jonas. He was fascinat¬ 
ing in those days. He appealed to my sense of 
the romantic. If I ran away with him, it was 
more his fault than mine.” 

“ And had you no thought for the man who 
killed himself for love of you?” demanded Mc¬ 
Kelvie sternly, shutting his mind to the siren 
quality in her voice. 

She shrugged. “ Andrew was a fool. It was 
not necessary for him to play heavy tragedy.” 



THE ARREST 


273 


She spoke unfeelingly, once more coldly impas¬ 
sive. 

“ Did you not feel guilty, taking his money?” 
continued McKelvie mercilessly. 

“ No. He owed it to me,” she cried out 
angrily. Then, conscious that she had said too 
much, she rose. “ I didn’t come here to subject 
myself to the third degree,” she said icily, but¬ 
toning her coat. 

McKelvie smiled disarmingly. “ I’m an in¬ 
vestigator, which is another way of saying that 
I am a human question mark. You must for¬ 
give me by telling me one thing more. Was your 
father ever acquainted with Jonas Faraday’s 
daughter?” 

Her look of surprise was genuine. “ I never 
knew Jonas had a daughter,” she responded. 
“ You must be mistaken.” 

“ Perhaps. Does your father paint? That is, 
was he studying to be an artist in his younger 
days?” 

She laughed. “ Now you are growing cold. 
What an absurd idea. My father has never been 
interested in art that I know of.” 

“ Can you assure me that those papers had no 
bearing on the crime?” persisted McKelvie, 
following her to the door. 

“ They deal simply with an affair in which 


274 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Jonas and I were involved, an affair in which 
he wronged me cruelly. In the document he 
names me as his enemy and declares that if he 
should be murdered I shall be to blame. In 
fact, to be frank, he accuses me of the crime.” 

“ He must have been deranged,” murmured 
Norris quickly. 

“ Exactly. But a document of that sort in 
the hands of the police would bring me unde¬ 
sired notoriety. Therefore I have taken the 
precaution to suppress the papers.” 

“ I wish I might have had a chance to read 
them,” declared McKelvie. “However, that 
can’t be helped now. By the way, would you 
mind satisfying my curiosity? Who gave you 
that brooch you wear?” 

She looked him coolly in the face. “ It was a 
gift to me from my husband, Andrew Howe.” 
Then with a bewitching smile, she disappeared 
down the passage. 

“ Well, I’m damned,” was all McKelvie could 
find to say. 

“ And I’m completely lost,” declared Norris 
with a rueful smile. “ What’s the next move?” 

“We seem to have been completely routed. 
The next move is to leave the scene of our igno¬ 
miny as gracefully as we can,” retorted McKel¬ 
vie with a grimace. 


THE ARREST 


275 


When Norris had taken the wheel he addressed 
his moody companion. “ Where to, Mac?” 

“ Stuyvesant Square. Perhaps there will be 
a message for me concerning Farrell. After that 
we’ll call on Miss Howe and settle the question 
of Andrew Howe once and for all. I’m tired of 
having his name crop up wherever we turn.” 

When they reached Stuyvesant Square, Dinah, 
who had evidently been on the lookout for her 
master, admitted them, her face lugubriously 
lengthened. 

“ Dey’s a gemman waitin’ to see yo’, Massah 
Graydon. He am walkin’ up and down now fo’ 
most a half hour, wearin’ out de rug in de study, 
yessah,” she declared indignantly. 

McKelvie smiled. “ Not as bad as that, I 
hope. What does he want?” 

“ I dunno, sah. He done say he mus’ see yo’. 
He wouldn’t give no name nor no business, Mas¬ 
sah Graydon.” 

“ Can it be Williams?” suggested Norris. 

“ I hope not,” returned his companion shortly. 

With an air of detachment, as though he had 
no concern in the matter, Norris watched the 
meeting between McKelvie and the stranger, 
who turned out, upon introduction, to be Eld- 
redge Howe’s lawyer. He was elderly and very 
dignified, this legal adviser, smooth-shaven, 


276 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


wearing gold pince-nez, and he was excessively 
annoyed at having been kept waiting so long. 
He did not like delays. 

McKelvie, who was for his part not greatly 
pleased at this interruption to his immediate 
plans, shrugged. “ My dear sir, if I had known 
you were going to honor me with a call-” 

The lawyer went on speaking as though he 
had not heard. “ This is all very unexpected 
— and somewhat arbitrary and unjust, too, if I 
may say so.” 

“ I think I could follow you more intelligently, 
Mr. Dane, if I had a slight glimmering of the 
subject under discussion,” remarked McKelvie, 
unruffled, from his position on the hearth. 

The lawyer blinked as though some one had 
struck him, and his glasses flew off. He picked 
them up in a bewildered way, polished them vig¬ 
orously, and replaced them on his sharp nose. 
“ Do you mean to say,” he demanded, peering 
more closely at McKelvie, “ that you are not 
aware of the reason for my visit?” 

“ Such an admission will blast my reputation, 
but I must confess to being totally in the dark,” 
retorted McKelvie, half-comically, half-seri- 
ously. “ However, knowing Williams, I might 
hazard a guess.” 

The attorney was too taken up with the im- 



THE ARREST 


277 


portance of his mission to condescend to fri¬ 
volity. “ Am I mistaken in assuming that you 
ordered the arrest of my client this afternoon?” 

“ Good heavens!” ejaculated Norris, startled 
out of his detachment. 

“ I’m not connected with headquarters, Mr. 
Dane,” answered McKelvie coldly. 

“No — I know you are not; but you called 
upon Mr. Howe — and well, he was positive that 
you told the police that he was the man they 
were looking for,” explained the lawyer halt¬ 
ingly. 

“ Basing my accusation upon what?” 

“ Upon the clue of the dagger.” 

“ Thank you for your very flattering opinion 
of my ability as an investigator.” McKelvie’s 
cynicism was the result of McKelvie’s pride. 
He reared a barrier of sarcasm against the shafts 
directed toward the one thing he really cared 
about, his reputation as a solver of mysterious 
crimes. “ I’m not quite such a fool as I may look. 
I do not counsel arrests on such slight evidence, 
Mr. Dane.” 

The lawyer remarked with dignified pom¬ 
posity, “ Of course, you must understand that 
all this is very upsetting, Mr. McKelvie. It is 
not very pleasant for an innocent man to be 
clapped into jail-” 



278 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


McKelvie waved aside the platitudes. “ I’m 
not responsible for the stupidity of the police. 
If you will have patience I think I can persuade 
the Chief that the arrest was a mistake.” 

When the lawyer had gone, McKelvie took up 
the cable that was waiting for him. It was from 
London, an answer to his message. 

“ What news?” inquired Norris when McKel¬ 
vie had deciphered the cable. 

“ More or less what I expected.” McKelvie 
read rapidly, “ John Thurston Farrell arrested 
twenty-four years ago for selling bogus stock, 
incorporated under name of Silver Creek Mine 
Company. Sentenced and served eighteen years 
at Dartmoor. No such persons involved as 
Howe or Faraday.” 

“ What does that last sentence mean?” 

“ I took the precaution to inquire whether 
your uncle or Eldredge Howe might not have 
been involved with Farrell. Just an idea of mine 
which as you see amounted to nothing.” McKel¬ 
vie went on as if to himself, “ I can see now that 
Farrell could not have been Trevor, the artist. 
Farrell was at Dartmoor when Trevor painted 
Granya Faraday’s picture.” 

He rose and flung aside the cable. “ Our best 
plan now is to go to headquarters and see Wil¬ 
liams before we drive to Morningside Heights.” 


THE ARREST 


279 


Norris agreed half-heartedly. He would rather 
have gone direct to Granya’s house since there 
was a chance that he might induce Miss Howe 
to intercede for him with the girl. 

At Center Street the two men entered the 
portals of the grim building that frowned majes¬ 
tically upon the narrow street. McKelvie in¬ 
quired for Williams and they were admitted to 
an inner office where the detective received them 
with Olympian graciousness. 

“ What can I do for you?” he asked, beaming 
upon McKelvie with the consciousness of a man 
who has fulfilled his duty and knows it to his 
own satisfaction. 

“ You can release Mr. Eldredge Howe,” re¬ 
plied McKelvie quietly. “ What gave you the 
ridiculous notion that he was guilty?” 

Williams swelled visibly. “ What gave me 
the notion? A little investigation on my own. 
I took the dagger over to the Museum and it 
was recognized as belonging to the collection 
that the Egyptologist had loaned last month for 
exhibition purposes. After I heard Fordney’s 
story, I just put two and two together and 
made-” 

“ A mess of things,” muttered McKelvie in 
Norris’ ear. Aloud he remarked, “ Is the Chief 
in, Williams?” 



280 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Williams looked at his rival sharply. “ Why 
do you want to see the Chief?” 

“ Because,” said McKelvie deliberately, “ I 
think you have made a mistake in arresting a 
man of such prominence with such slight justifi¬ 
cation.” 

“ I was amply justified,” retorted Williams, 
dilating like a ruffled gamecock. “ Howe is the 
only one who had any motive for killing Jonas 
Faraday.” 

“ In order to have committed the crime, Mr. 
Howe would have had to have been away from 
home from about two the night before until seven 
the night of the murder. As it happens he was 
home during that interval,” returned McKelvie 
calmly. “ Send word to the Chief that I want 
to see him, please.” 

Grudgingly Williams complied, saying to 
Norris in a disgruntled tone, “ He makes me 
tired, always butting in.” 

Norris did not reply. He was so absorbed in 
his own meditations that he was scarcely aware 
of the fact that McKelvie and Williams had left 
the room. He was still deep in thought when 
McKelvie returned alone. 

“ The Chief is going to release Eldredge 
Howe. Let’s hasten our departure. I want to 
hear what Miss Marietta has to say before her 


THE ARREST 


281 


brother reaches home. I think she will talk more 
freely in his absence,” remarked McKelvie, lay¬ 
ing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. 

Norris looked up anxiously. “Mac, do the 
police know about — about Granya’s having 
taken the dagger?” 

“ No. Until we are absolutely positive of the 
extent of her complicity, there is no use in men¬ 
tioning her existence to the police,” was the re¬ 
assuring answer. 

Norris sighed. He hated to contemplate that 
thought of the girl’s possible complicity. 


CHAPTER XXIV 
Granya’s Parentage 

When Norris and McKelvie reached Morn- 
ingside Heights, Miss Marietta Howe received 
them in a state of extreme agitation. They 
were in the Louis XIV drawing-room and she 
sat on the edge of a gold chair, twisting her 
wrinkled hands in nervous apprehension. She 
was very much upset over her brother’s arrest. 
She was still more disturbed when Norris asked 
for Granya. 

“ She — she is not at home, Mr. Norris,” 
whispered the old lady. 

“ Where is she?” demanded Norris, menac¬ 
ingly, recalling another time when the girl had 
been away from home. 

Miss Howe gazed at him terrified. She wrung 
her hands. “ She — she is with friends,” she 
gasped out as though the words were torn from 
her. 

McKelvie motioned Norris aside. “ Miss 
Howe,” he said gently, “ you need not be afraid 
to speak the truth. You see we know that 
Granya was Jonas Faraday’s granddaughter.” 

282 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


283 


Her startled eyes flew to McKelvie’s lean 
face. “ How did you learn that?” she asked 
affrighted. 

McKelvie drew up a chair and explained. For 
a space after his melodious voice had ceased, 
Miss Howe sat with bent head, her eyes on the 
carpet as though studying the design. 

Presently she murmured, “ You ought to 
know, Mr. Norris, since you want to marry her. 
Perhaps I can serve her best by telling you the 
truth because you love her — and love is 
stronger than hate.” 

She raised her pale eyes to the chemist and at 
the sadness in their faded depths, he took her 
withered hand in his and patted it. 

“ Please believe,” he said earnestly, “ that 
nothing you can tell me will make any difference. 
I shall love her whatever she may have done and 
whoever she may turn out to be.” 

Miss Howe spoke sadly. “ She is not to blame. 
The Bible speaks truth. ‘ The sins of the fathers 
shall be visited on the children unto the third 
generation of them that hate me.’ It was all my 
brother’s fault. He and Jonas Faraday are to 
blame for all the trouble that has overtaken us.” 

She fell silent and her narrow shoulders 
twitched spasmodically. McKelvie said, “ You 
are speaking of Eldredge Howe?” 


284 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


She shook her head vehemently. “ No, no. I 
mean my other brother, Daniel. But I had 
better begin at the beginning, otherwise you will 
not understand. There were three of us in my 
family, Eldredge, Daniel, and myself. Eldredge 
was the eldest, and Daniel the youngest of the 
three. Daniel was headstrong, impulsive. At 
twenty-one he married a Spanish girl whom he 
met in Cuba. Five years later he deserted her 
and joined Jonas Faraday in some shady enter¬ 
prise.” 

Norris remarked bitterly, “ I shouldn’t be 
surprised.” 

“ The Spanish wife, Juanita, came home to me 
with her little son whom she had christened 
Julio. She did not live long, poor little thing; 
and, realizing that Daniel cared nothing for his 
son, we, Eldredge and I, adopted the child, 
giving him the name of Andrew.” 

“ Ah,” murmured McKelvie, “ I begin to see 
where the pieces of the puzzle belong.” 

Miss Howe resumed, “ Twenty-four years ago, 
Daniel and Jonas Faraday were in London, 
where they got into some trouble with the 
authorities. We were living in New York, then, 
and Daniel came home for the first time in about 
fourteen years. He told us that he was a fugi¬ 
tive from justice and begged us to hide him. 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


285 


Eldredge — he is an unforgiving man, Mr. 
Norris — wanted to give Daniel up, but Andrew, 
who was then eighteen, interceded for his father, 
so Daniel stayed with us. But not for long. 
Something was troubling him — remorse I know 
now — and he sent for Jonas Faraday without 
consulting us.” 

“ Did Jonas Faraday come to New York?” 
asked McKelvie during the pause that followed. 

“ Yes, he came.” The gray voice continued, 
“ Eldredge, blaming Mr. Faraday for DaniePs 
perversion, stormed out of the house, leaving 
Daniel and Jonas Faraday alone in the library.” 

“ About how old was your brother at this 
time?” put in McKelvie. 

“ Let me see. Andrew was eighteen — and 
Daniel was twenty-one when he married. Um 
— yes — Daniel was forty at this time, quite 
old enough to know what he was doing, I 
thought.” 

“ You were telling us about the interview 
between your brother and Jonas Faraday,” Mc¬ 
Kelvie reminded her as she fell silent, brooding 
on the past. 

“ Yes, yes. They talked a long time, then 
Mr. Faraday came out into the hall and called 
me. He said that Daniel was dying. I could 
hardly believe my ears. I rushed into the library 


286 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


and there was Daniel lying on the sofa before the 
fireplace. One glance at his face and I knew 
he couldn’t live. The police were after him 
and he had taken poison to avoid the disgrace 
of being arrested.” 

She shook her head mournfully. “ I asked 
Mr. Faraday what Daniel had done, and he took 
from his pocket some sheets of closely written 
paper and held them out to me. 

“ ‘ You will find an account of the whole affair 
written on these pages,’ he said. I put out my 
hand to take them but, with an unexpected twist, 
he flung the papers into the fire. The action 
roused Daniel from his stupor. He tried to 
speak. He pointed toward Jonas Faraday and 
I caught the word ‘ restitution.’ At that Mr. 
Faraday laughed and remarked sneeringly, 
‘ Restitution? Bah. I always knew you were a 
coward.’ ” 

“ What had your brother done to deserve 
arrest?” asked Norris sympathetically. 

“ We never found out. When Eldredge came 
home and learned of the tragedy, he was be¬ 
side himself. He raged against Jonas Faraday. 
He forbade Andrew and myself to have anything 
further to do with the man, declaring that he 
would cast us out of his home if we disobeyed 
him. We were disgraced enough without dig- 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


287 


ging up any more skeletons around Daniel's 
memory, Eldredge said. Let Jonas Faraday 
make restitution. You see, we learned after¬ 
wards that the police were not on Daniel's trail. 
Mr. Faraday had misinformed Daniel for pur¬ 
poses of his own. Fear and remorse drove Daniel 
to commit suicide." 

Norris muttered something derogatory about 
his uncle, and Miss Howe smiled sadly. 

“ That is all past and gone," she said gently. 
“ And if he was your uncle, remember that he 
was also Granya's grandfather." 

“ Yes?" 

“ We had brought up Andrew to be a good 
American, even though he was the image of his 
mother and had the latter's passionate tempera¬ 
ment. When Andrew was twenty we moved to 
Paris for a few years so that Eldredge might 
pursue certain investigations connected with 
Egyptology. He had trained Andrew to act as 
his secretary, so of course the boy sailed with 
us. On the way over Andrew became acquainted 
with a Mr. Trevor, a young artist of consider¬ 
able ability. We had been in Paris about a 
year when this artist invited us to an exhibition 
of his paintings. Among them was the portrait 
of a very beautiful young girl." 

Miss Howe's sigh echoed softly through the 


288 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


room. “ Barring Granya, this girl was the most 
radiant creature I have ever seen. She was 
alive, dominant, sparkling with vitality and the 
artist had painted her with startling vividness. 
I can only convey to you the impression that 
portrait made on me by saying that she might 
have been Granya herself about to step down 
from a frame of gold.” 

Norris said soberly, “ I know.” Hadn’t the 
portrait affected him in the same way? He had 
fallen in love with Granya because he had first 
been ensnared by the beauty of the pictured face. 

McKelvie was not thinking solely of the paint¬ 
ing. He was marvelling at the precision with 
which Fate marched onward to its appointed 
end. Each step led ominously to the next as 
though the persons concerned in that tragic past 
were puppets in the hands of a destiny which 
they had no power to circumvent. 

Miss Howe pursued her narrative. “ Andrew 
fell in love with the portrait and insisted on 
buying it. Being half Spanish, he was impetu¬ 
ous, violent. The artist refused to sell. The 
portrait belonged to the young girl, Granya 
Faraday. That she was the daughter of Jonas 
Faraday did not in the least deter Andrew. He 
discovered where she was staying — a private 
school in Paris — and he found a means to see 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


289 


her. The upshot was that they married — 
secretly.” 

“ Montague and Capulet,” murmured Mc- 
Kelvie. 

“ Yes. Her father hated the Howes as much 
as Eldredge hated Jonas Faraday. But one can¬ 
not hate forever. Andrew confided in me and I 
determined to help him. I got hold of a doctor 
and sent him to see Andrew’s wife. For a cer¬ 
tain sum, he consented to represent to Mr. Fara¬ 
day that his daughter was in urgent need of 
country air. Mr. Faraday was in England but 
he came to Paris and removed the girl to a home 
in the suburbs. Then he went back to London 
again.” 

“ Andrew saw his wife there, then?” 

“Yes. We bribed the housekeeper and the 
nurse, both of whom were engaged by the 
doctor. It was there that Granya was born. 
Her mother died two days later. I removed the 
baby before they sent for Jonas Faraday. Poor 
Andrew was disconsolate. He had left the por¬ 
trait which his wife had given him at the house 
and Jonas Faraday took it away with him. 
Andrew did not dare to claim it, so he was left 
without even the comfort of having her painting 
to look at.” 

“ What did you do with the baby? Did you 


290 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


tell your brother who she was?” asked Norris 
eagerly. 

“ No, we did not dare. If Eldredge had known 
that Granya was a Faraday, he would have 
repudiated her and insisted on sending her to an 
orphanage. My brother does not forgive, Mr. 
Norris. So Andrew and I concocted a story be¬ 
tween us, changing the mother’s name and ex¬ 
plaining that the marriage had been kept secret 
because she was still in school and her parents 
would have objected. We had a time convincing 
him. He wanted to turn the baby over to the 
bereaved parents of Andrew’s wife, but we finally 
pacified him and he became as fond of the child 
as though it had been his own.” 

“ How did you convince him?” demanded Mc- 
Kelvie, who wanted all details made clear. 

“ We had a dreadful time. We got the house¬ 
keeper who had been with Granya’s mother, to 
pose as Andrew’s mother-in-law. She declared 
herself willing, for a small sum, to give up all 
claims to the baby.” Miss Howe raised her 
faded eyes to his face. “ It was the only thing 
we could do. It was far better to impose on 
Eldredge than to turn Andrew’s child over to 
Jonas Faraday.” 

“ I should hope so,” ejaculated Norris fer¬ 
vently. “ You were quite justified.” 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


291 


“ I don’t know,” she replied, slowly. “ I 
sometimes wonder. For there was more trouble 
to come. Ten years later Andrew met Arlita 
Farrell. We were in London then. She was 
seventeen, but a woman of the world. I did not 
like her, but she swept Andrew off his feet. 
She was cold and hard, except when she smiled.” 

Both Norris and McKelvie, having seen the 
smile, understood perfectly. 

“ She insisted on living in Paris. Andrew took 
her there on their honeymoon. And then she 
met Jonas Fielding. He was rich and pampered 
her. She was a selfish girl and cared nothing for 
Andrew, so she eloped with the older'man. She 
broke Andrew’s heart and he went mad with 
jealousy and the disgrace. He wrote me a wild 
letter, swearing that he would kill them both. I 
went to Paris at once, but I was too late. I found 
Andrew lying dead on the floor. Suicide they 
called it. But I know better. He had spoken 
of a duel, and Jonas Fielding had been there, 
I’m sure. I cannot bear to repeat it, even now.” 
Her voice broke on the words and she hid her 
face in her trembling old hands. 

In the distant shadows phantom voices whis¬ 
pered of that tragic end and Norris thought he 
could hear the crack of the pistol and see his 
uncle creeping from the house. But it was only 


292 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


the crackling of a log in the fireplace that had 
awakened an echo of Fordney’s story in his 
brain. 

“ Miss Howe,” McKelvie broke the heavy 
silence, “ did you know that Jonas Faraday had 
changed his name to Fielding?” 

The old lady roused herself. “ I did not know 
it then. If Andrew divined the truth, he did not 
tell me. Do you wonder that Eldredge was so 
bitter against the man? Through him both 
Daniel and Andrew were driven to take their 
own lives.” 

“ Why did Andrew leave Arlita Farrell his 
property? After the way she treated him, one 
would have naturally supposed that he would 
have left his money to his daughter,” questioned 
McKelvie. 

“ Because she was clever,” responded Miss 
Howe bitterly. “ She got him to make a will 
naming her his sole heir, promising to look after 
Granya’s interests herself. The hypocrite! She 
had no such intentions. Andrew died so unex¬ 
pectedly. There was no time to change the will 
and Eldredge was too proud to contest it. So 
Arlita Farrell got the money.” 

“ He owed it to me.” What had Arlita Far¬ 
rell meant by those words, McKelvie wondered. 
Did the tragedy that had involved Andrew Howe 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


293 


spring from a deeper, darker source than a 
mere broken romance? 

“ Miss Howe, what is the significance of the 
brooch that Arlita Farrell wears?” he asked. 

“ Brooch?” repeated Miss Howe, puzzled. “ I 
am not familiar with her jewels.” 

“ This one is made in the shape of three hands 
clasped together with the motto ‘ Bona Fides ’ 
engraved around the edge-” 

“ You are speaking of Granya’s ring, aren’t 
you?” interrupted Miss Howe. 

“ The brooch and the ring are identical.” 

“ I know nothing of the brooch. The ring was 
originally a scarf pin of Daniel’s. Andrew had 
it made into a ring for himself. It was the only 
thing of his father’s that he owned. When 
Andrew married Granya Faraday, he used that 
ring. She gave it back to him when she was 
dying. Granya came across it one day and when 
she learned that it had been her mother’s wed¬ 
ding ring, she insisted on wearing it.” 

“ You are sure that Andrew did not have two 
scarf pins or even three?” 

“ I’m quite sure. I never saw any other that 
I know of.” 

“ What was the motto supposed to repre¬ 
sent?” 

“ I have no idea, none at all.” 



294 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“'What about Granya?” broke in Norris im¬ 
patiently. “ It is her part in this recent murder 
that I am interested in. The rest matters noth¬ 
ing” 

Miss Howe replied in a dignified tone, 
“ Granya had nothing to do with the murder, 
Mr. Norris. I doubt if she has ever heard of 
Mr. Faraday. She has never been told the truth 
about her parentage.” 

“ But, she had the dagger — and she was near 
the scene of the crime,” exclaimed the chemist. 
“ I know she’s not guilty — but what has she to 
do with the affair?” 

Miss Howe lowered her voice mysteriously. 
“ There is a strange influence at work. Granya 
had gone out the night before the crime about 
eight o’clock. She is very independent. She had 
received a letter asking her to call at a certain 
house on Fourth Avenue if she wanted to learn 
something of importance to her future happiness. 
She went out without saying a word to me about 
the matter. And then she didn’t come back. 

“What a night and day I put in!” Miss 
Howe shook her head agitatedly at the recol¬ 
lection. “ I had to tell Eldredge that the child 
was ill to keep the knowledge of her absence 
from him. I was frantic. Then about six 
o’clock that evening she phoned me she was 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


295 


all right and would be home as soon as possible.” 

“ That was the evening I saw her in the 
telephone booth,” commented Norris. 

“ Yes. When she came in, I saw that she had 
been very much frightened. She was as white as 
a sheet and there were black and blue marks 
on her arms,” went on Miss Howe with rising 
indignation. “ But she wouldn’t tell me a thing 
except to say that she was all right.” 

“ And she is away again now?” demanded 
Norris excitedly. 

“ No. She is home, but she told me to say 
she was out because — well, to be frank, she 
was too deeply hurt last night to want to see 
you again so soon, Mr. Norris,” replied Miss 
Howe. 

Norris turned away to hide the look of anguish 
in his eyes. McKelvie said coolly, “ Tell her 
to come down here, Miss Howe. Explain to her 
that it is imperative that she answer some ques¬ 
tions. If she does not want to see Phil, I’ll 
talk to her in another room.” 

Miss Howe put her hand kindly on Norris’ 
arm. “ I think she really wants to see you. 
Won’t you send her a message?” 

Eagerly Norris complied, hastily scribbling an 
appeal on one of his cards. 

In answer to Miss Howe’s summons the 


296 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


wooden-faced footman appeared in the doorway. 

“ Take this card to Miss Granya and tell her 
that I want to see her in the library,” she 
ordered. 

“ Miss Granya is not home,” responded the 
footman. 

“Not home?” exclaimed Miss Howe. “ Im¬ 
possible!” 

“When did she go out?” inquired McKelvie 
practically. 

“ About half an hour ago, sir. She took the 
car.” 

With a flurried gesture Miss Howe dismissed 
the servant and turned to Norris. “ I am afraid 
for her. I know she is in danger. I feel it.” 
She wrung her hands helplessly and rocked her 
thin old body back and forth in an agony of 
apprehension. 

Norris grabbed his hat and made for the 
door. On the threshold he paused and turned 
back wearily. He did not know where Granya 
had gone, how could he possibly find her? What 
a fool he had been to question her the night 
before. If anything happened to her, he would 
never forgive himself. His bitter self-condem¬ 
nation was cut short by the soothing tones of 
McKelvie’s calm voice. 

“ Miss Howe,” the latter was saying, “ you 


GRANYA’S PARENTAGE 


297 


must have some reason for speaking so appre¬ 
hensively. Do you know or suspect that she 
may have gone back to hunt for a clue to the—” 
“ She might have. She said she would clear 
herself of suspicion before she would consent to 
marry Mr. Norris. That is just what I’m afraid 
of; that she went back to Fourth Avenue and 
that she has been trapped again.” Miss Howe 
addressed Norris. Her eyes were pleading, 
earnest. “ You love her. Go — go and find 
her. She is in danger. Remember that she, too, 
is a Faraday.” 


CHAPTER XXV 
The Search 

Once in his car, Norris drove most recklessly 
toward Gramercy Park. The words “ She is a 
Faraday,” sent a cold chill down his spine. Was 
Granya to pay the penalty for his uncle’s crimes? 

He said gloomily to McKelvie, “ I blame my¬ 
self-” 

“ Nonsense. Granya can take care of herself 
and we have no actual knowledge that she is 
in any danger. It would take her almost half 
an hour just to drive downtown from her home.” 

“ Why should she go just before dinner and 
without saying a word to her aunt?” objected 
Norris. 

“ That looks suspicious, of course. Miss 
Howe has lived so long in terror of her brother’s 
learning the truth about Granya that she natu¬ 
rally becomes panicky the moment anything 
happens that concerns the girl.” 

“ She is a Faraday and the person who killed 
my uncle has a grudge against the Faradays. I 
wonder though,” Norris mused, “ how this per¬ 
son knew that my unde was also Granya’s 
grandfather?” 


298 



THE SEARCH 


299 


“ Miss Farrell might have known,” McKelvie 
pointed out. “ Andrew Howe probably con¬ 
fided to her the story of his previous marriage. 
She was talking to Granya the night we spoke 
to her in her dressing-room at the theater.” 

“ If my uncle deserted Miss Farrell, she would 
have a grudge against him,” declared Norris. 
“ What’s that old adage, ‘ Hell hath no fury like 
a woman scorned ’?” 

McKelvie looked dubious. “ I don’t know. 
She didn’t appear to me to have been greatly 
grieved. I would be more inclined to say that 
she had rid herself of your uncle than that he 
had deserted her.” 

“ Which brings us right back where we 
started,” said Norris impatiently. 

“ On the contrary. We know that Granya was 
at the Fourth Avenue house and that therefore 
she must know the criminal. The question is, 
why does she shield this guilty person?” 

“ If he were some one very dear to her?” sug¬ 
gested Norris. “ But, no, that’s nonsense. She 
does not know the criminal. You said yourself 
that Eldredge Howe was innocent.” 

“ I simply said I did not counsel arrests on 
insufficient evidence,” retorted the other. 
“ Granya is shielding the criminal, as you will 
learn when we find her.” 


300 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Norris made no answer. He stopped his car 
before the frame house on Fourth Avenue. As 
they had done the day before, they opened the 
window and entered through the basement. But 
a thorough search revealed no trace of recent 
occupancy. No one had been in the house since 
the night of the crime. 

From there to Gramercy Park was just a step. 
Again the two men traversed the gloomy old 
house, but nothing had been touched apparently 
since they had spoken to Arlita Farrell in the 
dismantled library. McKelvie, overlooking no 
possible recess, examined the house from attic to 
cellar, both the used and unused portions com¬ 
ing under his keen scrutiny. There was no trace 
suggesting that Granya Howe had visited the 
house. 

“ I think that we are just wasting time. The 
best thing we can do, Phil, is to go over to my 
house to dinner. By that time Granya will be 
home and we can go back to Morningside 
Heights to talk to her,” was the way McKelvie 
summed up the situation. 

Norris agreed reluctantly, because he had no 
valid objection to offer. After all Granya’s cap¬ 
ture was purely a matter of conjecture and they 
might very well be embarked on a wild goose 
chase. 


THE SEARCH 


301 


After dinner Norris was anxious to drive back 
uptown but McKelvie vetoed the suggestion. 

“ I know how you feel, Phil. You hate to 
remain idle. If you are dashing here and yon, 
even though it is wasted energy, you have the 
notion that you are accomplishing something. 
The sensible thing is to phone Miss Howe. If 

Granya is still missing-” He finished the 

sentence by taking up the telephone and giving 
a number. 

McKelvie’s monosyllabic comments were not 
illuminating. Norris clenched his hands ner¬ 
vously. “ Well?” he exclaimed as the other put 
down the receiver. 

McKelvie’s face was grave. “ She is still miss¬ 
ing. Hold on, Phil. There is no use in dashing 
out half cocked.” 

Norris came back into the room and walked 
back and forth rapidly. “ Good heavens, Mac, 
let’s act first and talk afterwards.” 

“ Where do you intend to look for her?” 
asked McKelvie calmly. 

Norris threw out his hands in despair. “ I 
don’t know. Have it your own way. Only for 
mercy’s sake, let’s do something and do it 
quickly.” 

McKelvie picked up the phone again. “ There 
are two places where she might be. She may 



302 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


have gone to talk things over with Peter Van 
Dusen; she might be with Arlita Farrell in 
Gramercy Park. We’ll try the Van Dusens’ 
first.” 

But Peter Van Dusen had heard nothing of 
Granya since the night of the supper. And the 
maid who answered the phone at Gramercy Park 
explained that her mistress had gone to the 
theater. 

“ Is Mr. Farrell home?” inquired McKelvie. 

“ No, sir. He left a few minutes ago,” came 
the reply. 

McKelvie put down the phone and walked to 
the window where he stood looking out over the 
dark and desolate square. Several times he 
frowned and tapped his fingers impatiently on 
the windowpane as though he were trying to 
make up his mind what were best to be done. 
Norris watched him uneasily. 

Finally he turned from the window with a 
satisfied nod. “ All right, Phil. Drive me to the 
theater. Arlita Farrell knows where Granya is.” 

“You have a reason for that statement?” 
queried Norris eagerly. 

“ I always have a reason for everything I do,” 
was all the satisfaction he got. McKelvie re¬ 
fused to commit himself further. 

Norris, impatient of delays, drove a round- 


THE SEARCH 


303 


about route to the theater to avoid the congested 
traffic along Broadway. As before, McKelvie 
obtained entrance across the rear of the stage 
and knocked at the door of the star’s dressing- 
room. As before the maid, after a momentary 
hesitation, admitted them to Arlita Farrell’s 
presence. 

The star glanced at them coldly, “ What is it 
now? Am I to be persecuted this way at all 
hours?” 

“ Granya Howe is missing,” burst out Norris, 
before McKelvie could reply. 

“ What is that to me?” responded Arlita Far¬ 
rell curtly. “ I told you before that I do not 
know her.” 

“ There is a difference between knowing her 
and knowing who she is,” McKelvie pointed out 
sternly. “ Miss Farrell, if anything should hap¬ 
pen to Granya Howe, I shall hold you respon¬ 
sible.” 

The cold, hard eyes that had stared at them 
so contemptuously wavered beneath McKelvie’s 
steady glance. “ I — what do you mean?” fal¬ 
tered the star, losing her composure. 

McKelvie leaned forward and spoke rapidly 
in an undertone. Norris could not catch the 
words, but he saw Arlita Farrell’s eyes grow wide 
with sudden fear. 


304 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ No, no,” she whispered, “ not that. You do 
not understand.” 

“ I have my duty to others to perform,” re¬ 
plied McKelvie coldly. 

She clasped her beringed white hands together 
and looked at McKelvie pleadingly, meltingly; 
but the latter was obdurate. Finally, with a 
sigh, she called her maid and gave her some low- 
toned instruction. The maid left the small, 
luxurious room and Arlita Farrell spoke again 
to McKelvie. 

“ I am sure you are wrong.” 

“ That remains to be proved,” answered Mc¬ 
Kelvie dispassionately. 

“ Even if you are in the right there are extenu¬ 
ating circumstances-” 

The advent of the maid put an end to the con¬ 
troversy. Arlita Farrell turned eagerly to the 
girl. “ Is he coming?” 

“ He is not in the theater, Miss Farrell,” re¬ 
plied the maid. 

“Not in the theater!” The star glanced at 
McKelvie and repeated dully, “ Not in the 
theater. This is the first time he has missed 
seeing the curtain rise since the show was 
opened.” 

“ I think, Miss Farrell,” said McKelvie sig¬ 
nificantly, “ that you had better come with me.” 



THE SEARCH 


305 


She glanced wildly around, threw her ermine 
cape over her costume, and hurried out into the 
wings. “ I’ll have to see the manager,” she 
called back to them. 

“ What’s it all about?” murmured Norris, be- 
wilderedly. 

If McKelvie intended to reply, he had no 
chance. Arlita Farrell was back again, urging 
them to hurry as she led them out the side 
entrance of the theater. 

“ Gramercy Park East,” she said to Norris as 
McKelvie helped her into the tonneau of the 
car. “ I know that something must have hap¬ 
pened. Hurry, hurry before it is too late.” 

Only dimly comprehending what was going on, 
Norris obeyed literally, ignoring the traffic regu¬ 
lations as calmly as though they had no existence 
for him. When he reached Gramercy Park he 
drew up before a row of brownstone dwellings, 
almost directly opposite the row in which Jonas 
Fielding had exiled himself for five years. 

Arlita Farrell alighted and ran into the house 
alone. “ We’ll wait for her here,” said McKel¬ 
vie. “ She has gone in to make inquiries.” 

“ What about Granya?” demanded Norris 
impatiently. 

“ Here she comes. Well, Miss Farrell? Was 
I right?” 


306 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Arlita Farrell did not stop to discuss the ques¬ 
tion. With a frantic, “ For God’s sake, come,” 
she skirted the desolate park and made for the 
house where the crime had been committed. 
Instantly McKelvie and Norris had jumped from 
the machine and hastily followed her in the 
darkness. 

Though the outer doors were closed, it was 
easy enough to obtain access since the broken 
locks had not yet been replaced. Hurriedly they 
traversed the dark hall and crossed the short 
passage leading to the wall. Then of one accord 
they broke into a run. From the direction of 
the vault came strange muffled sounds, strangled 
sobs mingled with the tap, tap, tap of stone on 
stone. 

Norris was the first to reach the end of the 
corridor. He wrenched open the heavy vault 
door — it had been only partly closed — and 
almost tumbled headlong down the steps, so 
great was his amazement. 

In the poor light from the one inadequate 
burner a startling scene stamped itself upon his 
brain. Granya, bound and gagged, was lying 
on the floor, sobbing. Beside her stood a tall, 
gaunt figure, swinging the Egyptian mace-head 
against that portion of the wall that McKelvie 
had slightly demolished when he was hunting 


THE SEARCH 


307 


for the switch that controlled the wiring system 
in the library. 

Even as he noted these things, Norris started 
down the steps, whereupon the figure swung 
around and he recognized Arlita Farrell’s father. 
Lifting the mace-head high above his head, Far¬ 
rell called loudly, glaring at them with burning, 
relentless eyes, “ If any of you make a move, 
I’ll kill her as sure as my name is John Thurston 
Farrell.” 

Norris paused abruptly, afraid to move lest 
he endanger Granya’s life. McKelvie remarked 
contemptuously from the head of the steps, 
“ Just move aside, Mr. Farrell. I’ve got you 
covered.” 

“ Shoot, then,” answered the man passion¬ 
ately. “ Shoot but I’ll take her with me just the 
same.” 

“ For God’s sake, Mac,” exclaimed Norris 
wildly. 

Arlita Farrell who had been standing immobile 
like a person in a trance spoke up hurriedly, a 
sharp word or two in French. The rest hap¬ 
pened almost too quickly for thought. 

As though the words in that sweet, husky 
voice had acted as a goad, Farrell swung the 
club downwards. Before it reached its mark, 
two shots in rapid succession rang through the 


308 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


vault and Farrell dropped to his knees with a 
cry of rage. 

As Norris gathered the terrified girl in his 
arms, he heard Arlita Farrell exclaim, “ You 
have killed him!” and McKelvie answer non¬ 
chalantly, “ You will find that I have not even 
wounded him.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 
The Motive 

When Granya had been released, she flung 
herself, sobbing hysterically, into Norris’ arms. 
“ Take me away, Phil,” she cried, shuddering. 
“ He — he was going to lock me up in here. 
Please take me away.” 

Arlita Farrell, who had been kneeling beside 
her father, spoke gently, with the first trace of 
womanly feeling in her voice, “ Take her to my 
house, Mr. Norris. If Mr. McKelvie will help 
me with Father, I think we will all do well to 
leave this ghastly place.” 

Norris led the girl away thankfully and Mc¬ 
Kelvie followed, leading Farrell who went with 
him quietly enough though he walked like a man 
in a daze. He had not been hurt in any way, 
for McKelvie’s shots had only shattered the 
mace. It was the shock of the concussion that 
had momentarily stunned the actress’ father. 

When Granya had been comforted and Miss 
Howe had been apprised of the girl’s safety, 
Arlita Farrell asked Norris and McKelvie to talk 
to her father. 


309 


310 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


“ He wants to tell you himself his reasons for 
what he has done/’ she said. “ You must not 
judge him too harshly. You do not know his 
provocation.” 

“ I do know, Miss Farrell,” responded Mc- 
Kelvie gently. “ I shall not judge him. He has 
been punished enough.” 

She thanked him with her eyes and led the 
way into the luxurious library where her father 
was sitting disconsolately, his head buried in his 
hands. Since Granya refused to be separated 
from Norris, he acceded to her wish that she 
be allowed to hear the story of that tragic past. 

“ You shall hear.” Farrell raised his head 
with a vehement gesture when his daughter 
roused him from his reverie. “ You shall hear 
how I was tricked and cheated of everything 
that made life worth living; you shall hear how 
my wife and daughter were forced to work their 
fingers to the bone to keep body and soul alive 
while they — the vultures who preyed upon us 
— waxed fat upon the best the land could offer.” 

The words reverberated through the room and 
Norris drew Granya closer within the shelter of 
his arms. 

“ Twenty-four years ago,” said Farrell more 
quietly, “ I was a happy, contented man, living 
in a small house in the suburbs of London with 


THE MOTIVE 


311 


my wife and little daughter. I had a good posi¬ 
tion in an old established firm and was quite 
satisfied to remain with them always. Then 
one cursed day I met Jonas Faraday. He had 
a persuasive manner about him and we became 
friends. He was about seven years older than 
I and I foolishly made an idol of him. To prove 
my regard I bestowed upon him my watch be¬ 
cause he had admired it and because our initials 
happened to be the same.” 

He dragged the watch from his pocket and 
opened the back, pointing to the chaste J. T. F. 
on the inside of the case. Both McKelvie and 
Norris noticed the lock of auburn hair was gone. 

“ Jonas had a partner, Daniel Howe, and the 
two of them came to me with a proposition. 
They had bought a mine at Silver Creek. It 
promised to yield big profits, but to work it more 
money was necessary. They had decided to 
form a company and sell stock. For a certain 
sum — a small amount — they would let me in 
on the ground floor as it were. They also wanted 
me to manage the office in London while they 
were away at Silver Creek. I had some money 
saved and I joined them in their enterprise, so 
completely had I fallen beneath the spell of 
Jonas’ personality. To inaugurate the new com¬ 
pany he gave a dinner to Howe and myself and 


312 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


presented us each with a scarf pin bearing the 
motto, ‘Bona Fides,’ Good Faith — what a 
mockery.” 

He laughed harshly and then continued 
stonily, “ I became manager of the Silver Creek 
Mine Company and sent out salesmen to dis¬ 
pose of the stock. Two months later I was 
arrested on the charge of defrauding the public. 
I wired Jonas through my wife and he wired 
back to say nothing until I had seen the lawyer 
he had engaged for me, as my arrest was a gross 
miscarriage of justice. The stock was good.” 

“ Ah,” murmured McKelvie, “ Faraday was 
clever to employ the lawyer.” 

Farrell went on unheeding, “ I believed im¬ 
plicitly in Jonas’ good faith. I waited for the 
lawyer. He came the next day, that barrister, a 
man with a great reputation for winning his 
cases. I said to myself, ‘ Jonas thinks the best 
counsel is none too good for me ’ and I confided 
the whole story to the lawyer. Somehow — he 
could make black seem white, that man — he 
convinced me that my best course was to plead 
guilty of the charge of selling the stock and let 
him handle the case. The stock was not bogus. 
The mine had not yet begun to yield but there 
was plenty of ore and there was no reason to 
suppose that in time big profits would not accrue. 


THE MOTIVE 


313 


I was ignorant of legal jugglery. I thought he 
knew best, so I did as I was told. I might just 
as well have employed the devil as my attorney. 
I’d have been in better hands,” he added bit¬ 
terly. 

“ The barrister was bribed, of course?” 

“ He was Jonas’ henchman and he had an in¬ 
terest in the company, I learned later. I know 
nothing of legal phraseology, so I cannot explain 
how he managed it, but I was brought into court 

— there was no jury since I had pleaded guilty 

— and sentenced to twenty years in Dartmoor 
prison. They needed a scapegoat and they 
traded on my ignorance and trust. Eighteen 
years I was confined before they let me out.” 

“ And we, my mother and I,” broke in Arlita 
Farrell in a hard voice, “ were left practically 
penniless. We appealed to Daniel Howe to 
help us and he only laughed and told us to shift 
for ourselves. I was too young to know then, 
but later I learned of the menial tasks my 
mother was forced to perform to keep a miser¬ 
able roof over our heads. If I was hard and 
worldly-wise at seventeen, Daniel Howe was to 
blame — Howe and his partner, Jonas Faraday.” 

Farrell, whose thoughts were on the past, took 
up his narrative as though he had not heard. 
“ Eighteen years is a long time to be alone, 


314 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


brooding on one’s wrongs. I lived for the day 
when I should be released and the men who had 
tricked me should pay me back in full for those 
wasted years.” 

“ Couldn’t you obtain a reversal of your sen¬ 
tence?” asked Norris. “ Couldn’t you prove you 
had been tricked?” 

Farrell laughed mirthlessly. “ You don’t 
know them. Prove anything? My wife con¬ 
sulted another lawyer. The papers were in my 
name. There was nothing to connect them with 
the enterprise except her word and mine. Prove 
anything!” and he laughed again. 

“ When I left Dartmoor,” he resumed, 
“ Daniel was dead, the lawyer was dead and 
Jonas had disappeared. The thought that I 
had lost my chance of revenge almost drove me 
mad. I knew that my wife had died in penury 
and that my daughter was married and living in 
Paris. She had written to me to come to France 
as soon as I was released and she had sent me 
money for my passage. I went to Paris. 
Imagine my horror to discover that Arlita had 
married the man who had wronged me. I knew 
him in spite of the years.” 

“ I did not know that he was Faraday,” ex¬ 
plained the actress hastily. “ He called him¬ 
self Fielding and I had never met him when my 


THE MOTIVE 


315 


father first knew him. I was only three years 
old at the time.” 

“ But you knew that Andrew Howe was 
Daniel’s son?” inquired McKelvie. 

“ Yes. That is why I married him; that is 
why I broke his heart and disgraced his name. 
I wanted to avenge my mother for all she had 
suffered at his father’s hands. Fielding was 
simply a means to an end,” she defended her¬ 
self proudly. 

“ When I told Arlita who Fielding was, she 
was quite ready to aid me. She inveigled him 
to London where she made him settle some 
money on her. Then I sent him a cable and he 
fled, without her. I joined her in London where 
she turned the money over to me and I pursued 
Jonas around the world, until, worn and hag¬ 
gard, he hid himself in the house across the park. 
I rented this house to keep watch upon him. I 
used to laugh to think that he was imprisoned 
in that house like a rat in a hole. He did not 
dare venture forth for fear of me. I did not 
want to kill him, although I let him think so. 
No. I wanted him to suffer as I had suffered. 
He had put me behind bars. Very well. He 
should have a taste of that himself.” 

Farrell’s voice rang passionately through the 
silent room and he glared about him with eyes 


316 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


that seemed to burn with hatred in his dead- 
white face. 

“ Did he know that you were near by?” asked 
Norris. He had been listening avidly to this 
story of broken faith and inexcusable treachery, 
at first with pity for the gaunt man who had 
suffered so unjustly, but gradually with the pity 
changing to abhorrence for this lust for venge¬ 
ance so exultingly displayed. 

“ Yes, he knew,” responded Farrell gloatingly. 
“ That is why he barricaded himself so securely.” 

“ Why didn’t he appeal to the law to protect 
him?” 

“ He was afraid. He knew that long before 
the law could step in he would be dead. Be¬ 
sides, there were many charges against him. The 
law would have been glad to know of Jonas 
Faraday’s existence.” 

“ Wouldn’t it have been simpler, then, to have 
given him over to justice?” queried McKelvie. 

“ Simpler, yes. But then he would have been 
at peace. This way he lived in torment. He 
could not know when my cunning would pierce 
his defenses and I would take his life. I kept 
him in hell where he rightfully belonged.” 

“ I was with him before his murder. Why 
didn’t he tell me it was you whom he feared?” 
asked Norris suddenly. 


THE MOTIVE 


317 


“ Because I had let him understand that the 
day he mentioned my name to a single soul, that 
day he would die. And he was afraid of death, 
because his life had been evil and he could not 
know what was in store for him beyond the 
grave, particularly if he died by violence.” 

He was interrupted by a fit of coughing that 
left him spent and weak. His daughter brought 
him a glass of water and after a pause he went 
on, “ I am not well; I have not been well since 
I left Dartmoor. Latterly I grew worse and 
two months ago I consulted a doctor. He told 
me that I had not much longer to live. Six 
years against eighteen. Was Jonas to cheat me 
after all? 

“ I had studied the situation before and knew 
that I could not enter the house except by 
strategy. I watched the servant. Since he used 
to go a great deal to Kastamuni’s I made it my 
business to be there when he arrived. One day 
I heard Kastamuni tell him that he had a chance 
to bid for a mummy case and asked the old ser¬ 
vant if he wanted the case. The next day the 
servant came in and ordered the mummy case. 
Then I knew that my problem was solved. I 
examined the wooden case when it was standing 
open in Kastamuni’s store and I bought a new 
lock for it by the simple expedient of taking the 


318 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


impression of the old one. I was aware of the 
fact that Jonas had his purchases brought in 
at night through the vault door.” 

“ So that was how Fielding knew he could 
buy a mummy case,” commented McKelvie. “ I 
wondered how he found one so opportunely.” 

“ What grudge did you bear Granya that you 
should have dragged her into your schemes?” 
demanded Norris, breaking into the conversa¬ 
tion indignantly. 

“ She was Andrew’s daughter,” responded 
Farrell harshly. “ She was a Howe. My inno¬ 
cent daughter had suffered through the perfidy 
of the Howes. Was she then to escape judg¬ 
ment? I had decided to exact full vengeance. 
I sent her a letter asking her to meet me at the 
Fourth Avenue house as I had something to tell 
her concerning her mother’s past.” 

“ He tricked me,” exclaimed Granya, speak¬ 
ing for the first time. “ I had always been curi¬ 
ous about my mother and Aunt Marietta would 
never satisfy my curiosity. That is why I went. 
When I knocked at the door Mr. Farrell opened 
to me. I entered and that is all I remember 
for several hours.” 

“ I had to go to the theater. That was to 
be my alibi, so I chloroformed her and left her 
in the empty house until I returned later to fix 


THE MOTIVE 


319 


the wooden box,” explained Farrell, pleased with 
his ingenuity. 

“ How did you open the door, Mr. Farrell? 
Did you have a key to the Fourth Avenue 
house?” asked McKelvie. 

“ No. I cut a hole in the window pane and 
entered through the basement. The front door 
could be opened from the inside without a key.” 

“ And you made Granya Howe help you with 
the lock of the wooden box?” continued Mc¬ 
Kelvie. 

“ Yes.” It was Granya who answered agi¬ 
tatedly. “ He swore that granddaddy would pay 
if I so much as said one word of what had hap¬ 
pened to me, and he made me hold the light 
while he changed the lock on the box in the 
yard. Then he made me help him carry the 
mummy case to the cellar door. It was very 
heavy and I stumbled on the stairs. I remem¬ 
ber falling and hearing a terrific crash. The 
next thing I knew I was lying on the floor bound 
and gagged.” 

“ I intended to leave her there, but somehow 
she managed to get away-” said Farrell. 

“ There was some glass on the floor and after 
hours and hours of work with a small piece I 
severed the cord and was able to release myself. 
I climbed out the window. It was dark and 



320 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


snowing hard. I walked around awhile in a sort 
of daze until I met a policeman and he directed 
me to a drug store. And while I was phon¬ 
ing I saw Mr. Farrell come into the store and 
I was so frightened that I just dropped down 
to the bottom of the booth from sheer terror.” 
She hid her face with a shudder against Norris’ 
coat and he drew her closer reassuringly. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t interrupt,” Farrell said 
peevishly. “ I have only a little longer and I 
have much to tell. I hid in the box and locked 
myself in. I had taken the precaution to bore 
several air holes in the box so there was no 
danger of suffocation. I did not know how long 
I might have to remain inside. When I thought 
it was safe, I climbed out, relocked the box and 
hid in the vault. I knew that Jonas would come 
down and I was afraid to move around as I did 
not know what traps he might have set to catch 
me. It was something of a blow when he 
brought you down with him, Mr. Norris.” 

“ I can imagine,” remarked Norris ironically. 
“ Did you contemplate killing me, too?” 

“ There was nothing else for me to do,” replied 
Farrell morosely. “ I did not ask you to inter¬ 
fere in my affairs. I overheard the conversation 
between you. Since you were of his breed, I 
felt your death would be justified. When you 


THE MOTIVE 


321 


stepped on that trick tread and the cry rang 
out I almost betrayed myself. I had to crouch 
into a very small space when you started to 
examine the vault and once I thought you must 
have seen me. Later when I saw you bending 
over the box, I took my chance and put out the 
light. I heard a scuffle and a groan. My flash¬ 
light revealed you unconscious and Jonas stand¬ 
ing behind the box. When he saw me he was 
struck dumb with fear. I told him just why I was 
there and I killed him as I would have scotched 
a snake. Then I pinned my justification on his 
breast with the scarf pin he had given me so 
long ago.” 

“ What made you use that particular dagger?” 
asked McKelvie. 

“ I had found it on the girl and I decided to 
use it to leave no trace of my presence. I had 
been going to use a weapon of my own. But 
chance provided me with the better instrument, 
since then the police would be led astray. After 
the deed, I went up the steps and hid in the 
library. I was looking for possible incriminat¬ 
ing papers. Then you went for the police and I 
took advantage of your stupidity in leaving the 
doors open to walk out and go home.” 

“ What would you have done if Mr. Norris 
hadn’t left the doors opein? How had you 


322 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


planned to leave the place?” demanded Me- 
Kelvie. 

“ I knew that the servant had the keys. I 
had intended to wait in the vault until he came 
down to look for Jonas. It would not have been 
difficult to overpower him and take possession 
of the keys.” 

“ Why did you take the key to the vault 
from Jonas Fielding?” 

“ I didn’t want the police to lock the vault. I 
thought I might find it necessary to return there. 
In fact I did go back to look for the papers that 
Arlita afterwards discovered.” 

“ And it was you who dropped the watch in 
the drug store?” inquired Norris. 

“ Yes,” Farrell answered wearily. “ I had 
taken it from Jonas’ bedroom. It must have 
slipped from my pocket when I stooped to re¬ 
cover your wallet. I went in behind you to 
have a good look at you, Mr. Norris. I had to 
know whom I had to fear.” 

His head sank upon his breast and he closed 
his eyes as though he were no longer conscious 
that any one was present in the room. 

Arlita Farrell turned to Granya. “ I’m sorry, 
my dear, that you should have been involved in 
this affair. I hope you will forgive my father 
in the course of time. He was deeply injured 


THE MOTIVE 


323 


and on that subject he was not entirely sane.” 

Granya smiled tremulously. “ I forgive him,” 
she said gently. “ If it had not been for him, I 
might never have met Philip Norris,” and she 
laid her hand ever so lightly on the bowed 
shoulder of Arlita’s father. 

In the hall the actress drew McKelvie aside. 
“ Are you going to inform headquarters, Mr. 
McKelvie?” she asked in a low tone. 

“ No, Miss Farrell,” replied McKelvie seri¬ 
ously. “ Jonas Faraday reaped as he had 
sowed.” 

“ Thank you,” she answered simply, the hard 
eyes softening. “ The doctor told me only yes¬ 
terday that my father cannot live out the 
month.” 


CHAPTER XXVII 
Conclusion 

“ Are you going to inform headquarters?” 
Norris voiced Arlita Farrell’s query as he drove 
away from Gramercy Park. 

McKelvie, who was occupying the tonneau, 
since Granya had usurped the place beside Nor¬ 
ris, leaned forward and answered, “ No, Phil. 
I promised Miss Farrell that I would not.” 

“ Why, Mac?” 

“ Mr. Farrell is not a criminal in the usual 
sense of the word. His was a peculiar form of 
mental aberration born of eighteen years of 
brooding upon one subject. In the same cir¬ 
cumstances you or I, Phil, would have developed 
the complex for revenge, a cell-born monomania 
that ate like a canker into his soul. He was 
really insane on the subject.” 

“ But the man is dangerous, Mac, whatever 
you may say to excuse him. He has a grudge 
against Granya and he is far better behind 
bars,” exclaimed Norris. 

McKelvie shook his head. “ The man is 
dying. Let him pass away in peace. Miss 

324 


CONCLUSION 


325 


Howe is perfectly safe. If she had not ven¬ 
tured to make inquiries about the murder, he 
would not have tried to injure her again.” 

“ You are right, Mr. McKelvie,” answered the 
girl. “ I went to Mr. Farrell’s house and he 
invited me in. I asked him point-blank if he 
had taken the dagger, and told him that I needed 
his assurance to clear myself of suspicion. He 
told me he would explain everything to my satis¬ 
faction if I would accompany him to Mr. Fara¬ 
day’s house. I never thought of the danger to 
myself. For Phil’s sake, I wanted to vindi¬ 
cate -” 

“ Don’t say anything more,” begged Norris, 
taking her hand. “ I know I made an awful fool 
of myself-” 

“ You were perfectly justified to doubt me,” 
she murmured. 

McKelvie broke in with an ironical smile, 
“ Miss Howe, why did you carry the dagger with 
you the night before the murder?” 

“ Granddaddy had given it to me that morn¬ 
ing and I had forgotten to take it to Mr. Kasta- 
muni. As long as I was going out that night I 
decided I would deliver the dagger when I re¬ 
turned from Fourth Avenue. I have been to 
Mr. Kastamuni’s store at night before. He 
lives at the back and he and granddaddy often 




326 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


have heated discussions in the parlor about idols, 
and mummies and things of that sort.” 

“ Why, then, were you afraid to tell us where 
you had lost the dagger?” asked Norris. 

“ I wasn’t sure where I had lost it. And after 
what Mr. McKelvie said about accusing inno¬ 
cent persons, I was naturally diffident about 
saying anything against Mr. Farrell. Besides, 
I didn’t know his name at that time and, more¬ 
over, I recalled his threat to injure granddaddy 
if I spoke of having been kidnapped.” 

“ In other words you didn’t trust me, eh?” 
said McKelvie shrewdly. 

She blushed. “ I didn’t know you very well 
and I thought you might be working against my 
interests, Mr. McKelvie. Besides, Miss Farrell 
had cautioned me to say nothing to any one 
about the crime as it would only make trouble 
for those I loved. She hinted that my people 
were really to blame.” 

“ Ah,” returned McKelvie, “ Miss Farrell has 
proved herself worthy of admiration. She has 
certainly been a devoted daughter, even if one 
cannot quite commend her attitude in the mat¬ 
ter of her marriages. She told me, Phil — while 
you were helping Miss Howe into the car — that 
she divined that her father had committed the 
crime and that she lied to us and later stole 


CONCLUSION 


327 


Jonas Faraday’s papers to shield Mr. Farrell 
from the consequences of his deed. Also she 
warned Miss Howe to keep away from Gram- 
ercy Park and not to answer any more anony¬ 
mous notes.” 

“ Warm praise, Mac. And he pretends to be 
a misogynist,” murmured Norris to Granya. 

“ I believe in giving the devil his due,” re¬ 
plied McKelvie coolly. “ Miss Farrell deserves 
some compensation for her barren childhood.” 

“ Hirshkoff will supply that,” retorted Norris. 
“ To get back to the original discussion. When 
did you begin to suspect that Mr. Farrell had 
committed the crime?” 

“ When I was wondering where next to look 
for Miss Howe. I recalled that Miss Farrell had 
warned the girl and, in thinking over the words 
we heard that night at the theater, I came to 
the conclusion that the actress was concerned 
for her father. Besides, the clue of the watch 
should have given me the answer when I had 
received that cable from London about Mr. 
Farrell. Because it apparently cleared him of 
connection with your uncle, I allowed the watch 
clue to escape my mind.” 

“ I don’t understand. The watch was Far¬ 
rell’s, wasn’t it?” 

“ Yes, but the curl of hair belonged to Jonas 


328 THE HOUSE OF SECLUSION 


Faraday’s daughter. We proved that Farrell 
had never met this daughter, therefore the only 
person who could have put the lock into the 
watch was Jonas himself. Ergo he must have 
been in possession of the watch and, since Far¬ 
rell dropped it in the drug store immediately 
following the murder, he must have been on the 
scene of the crime.” 

“ Not necessarily. He might have taken the 
watch from Uncle Jonas before the latter came 
to New York, or Miss Farrell herself might have 
taken it when she was Uncle Jonas’ wife,” ob¬ 
jected Norris. 

McKelvie smiled. “ In that case the lock of 
hair would have been missing. Any reminder of 
Jonas Faraday would have been destroyed. 
Didn’t you notice that the curl was gone when 
he showed us the watch tonight?” 

“One thing more. Where did Arlita Farrell 
get the brooch she wore? She claimed Andrew 
Howe gave it to her, but that could not have 
been so, since his scarf pin was made into this 
ring.” Norris touched the band of gold on 
Granya’s finger. 

“ Jonas Faraday also had a scarf pin. He had 
it made into a brooch and gave it to Miss Far¬ 
rell when he married her. She wore it to remind 
her that between them there could be nothing 


CONCLUSION 


329 


but hatred since he was the destroyer of her 
father’s happiness. It seems that your uncle 
appealed to her for protection after she came to 
live with her father in Gramercy Park.” 

At Stuyvesant Square, McKelvie bade Norris 
and Granya good night. 

“ Thank you, Mac, for successfully solving 
this problem. Without you we should still be 
groping in the dark,” said Norris. 

“ I don’t know about that. I can’t say that 
I was particularly brilliant. If your brain had 
not been befogged with love, you would have 
arrived at a solution as readily as I. Good night 
and good luck.” 

When he was gone, Granya laughed. “ That 
was rather a left-handed compliment he paid 
you.” She tilted her rose-tinted face toward 
him. “ Is your brain befogged with love, Phil?” 
she asked saucily. 

Norris looked down into her bright eyes. 
“ I’m completely swamped,” he told her and 
took her in his arms. 


The End 












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